Tomorrow might be Kinder
by WalkerBait16
Summary: Paige is a survivor. She has made it through to Georgia all the way from Tennessee, losing her partner along the way. While traveling in the woods, she is captured by Rick's group, and kept as a prisoner. Foul-mouthed, and hiding secrets, she might just know where they could find a safe haven. Set just after last episode of second season! Please R&R! I'm bad at summaries!
1. One: Rot-Head

**_Hola! My name is Liz… this is my first story for Walking Dead, and my first story at all on here. So, please be nice, and reviews and what can be improved is appreciated! Please R &R! Set just after the last episode of season two… ;) Please review!_**

One: Rot-Head

Zombies. Everywhere. I am surrounded, and there is nothing to do but hope. Pray. My knuckles grip around the ridged knife that I got off of some dead man in an SUV a few days ago, my musket-rifle still slung over my back. Dirt and blood smudge my face, sweat drips down my temple as I prepare for the end. I will not go down with pity for myself. As they rip me apart, I will have dignity. I close my eyes and plunge into the feinding spew of rotting corpses, a yell forming on my lips.

I jolt up, yelling in my sleep. Not sleep anymore. I jolt awake, thrusting my arms out as if stabbing at the air, my knife tucked in my hand as I slept swishing in the air aggressively as if not on my own will. I clasp a hand over my mouth until I can stop myself from screaming, clutching onto my knife for dear life so I don't drop it. My legs stop kicking finally, and I settle my shaking frame so as to ensure that I don't fall out of the tree that I fell asleep in. I was keeping watch, and must have dozed off, because my knife was still in my hand. Crickets chirp around me, unfazed by my screaming and hollering. Apparently so are the rotties, if there are any within a two mile radius. I pick my locations strategically so I'm as far away from rot-heads as I possibly know.

I've been alone for nearly two months now, and it's getting to me. The dreams. I sleep in a tree every night, when sleep is necessary, like Petey told me to when we first started as a team. The man I barely knew. An image of his broad, velvety dark shoulders come into my head; the glistening back muscles in a V shape, protectively holding his large body in front of me.

"Big brothers protect little sisters, and you're like my little sister." He'd said in his dark, always-mysterious voice.

"I'm game to shoot just as well as you are. You need all the help you can get, brother." I smirked and reached up to knock the fisherman's cap off his head. I loved Petey.

He taught me everything I knew about the rotties, or rot-heads as he nicknamed the dead, which was a lot. He told me that you don't want to get bitten – that'd kill you, and then you'd come back. Kinda. The only thing that could kill one of them was a shot to the head, or something else to corrupt the part of the brain that _kept 'em walkin'_, as he said. I knew lots about the rotties. Enough that I didn't want to share the information.

By the sounds in the forest, I can tell it's dusk, not dawn. Animals are just starting to wake and become part of the nighttime cast of the forest. I hear the waterfall by the bridge I had crossed earlier. I suddenly remember climbing up into this tree midday. It's turning night; not morning. And this becomes more apparent as I realize how cold I am. I see my breath freeze in the air in front of me, and my fingertips and toes are numb and feel like blocks of ice. After scouting the area where I am perched in a tree with my eyes, I slowly slide down the tree, less gracefully than I imagine it will go. My feet crunch in the leaves and I literally wince at the noise. Though I feel rested, my limbs are crutched and cold, so I move like my legs have been in blocks of ice for the past few hours. Regretting sleeping scrunched in a tree.

My musket fits into the small of my back where I have it slung perfectly, and my numb fingers wrap around the handle of my knife. All the protection I have against thousands of dead roaming the earth.

I wander for a while, my blade at the ready, but I hear and see nothing suspicious, so I head towards the road again, wondering if I might find an abandoned old truck or something I could use to get away from here in. Another thing Petey taught me; driving. It's not like it's all that complicated. He taught me how to drive a stick-shift, and how to drive a modern gear. How to hotwire, if absolutely necessary. It isn't as hard as in the Old World. All you have to do is stay on the road. There aren't ever any other drivers you have to look out for, and if you go off-road, it doesn't matter much. I can press the gas pedal and shift the gears, run the windshield wipers and the windows; that's all I need. As I approach the road, I see something that definitely was not here when I ducked into the woods for rest.

A security fence has been set up around something obstructed by the sort of security barrier. A faint glow emerges from the barrier – a fire. Blinking a few ten times to assure that I'm not seeing a mirage, I crouch low to the road so I can inch along the side and see closer. As I crawl forward with my knife tucked close to my wrist, I hear faint voices. People! It's been months since I've seen any actual person. Come across many walkers, but never people. I've been driving myself mad with the sound of my own voice. Screaming at night as the dreams become worse and worse. In shock, I head back into the woods, definitely out of view of the others. However many there are.

As I do many times, I hear the two opposing sides of my conscience arguing.

_They're going to hurt you. They probably will do what they have to, this is about survival! Not about taking others in! They'll kill you just as fast as a rot-head for your meat!_

_ Fire… so warm. Ask them to share warmth, then be on your way. _

_ They'll shoot you. Skin you like a squirrel. _

_ Do they have food? How long have they been out here?_

I audibly growl to myself and stalk into the woods until I find a suitable tree to bang my head against. When I hear footsteps, I leap into the brush and press my back to a tree. But I still hear the voices close by.

"It might just be a wanderer. There are lots of stragglers in the woods." The first voice comes, but all I see is the forest in which his voice casts. There's a snuffle that sounds like someone wiping their hand under their nose. I make a face of disgust and shift the tiniest bit, barely making a sound. By now, when the world's gone to Hell, I've learned to be quiet in everything I do. It's for the best.

"We'll find it then." A slight accent speaks, another strictly male, unless it is a very grizzly female. "Shoot the sorry son-bitch in the head –"

"No," a female voice speaks. Layered in a farm-girl accent, I guess that's she's originally from around here. I pfft silently. Georgia-folk… "Shot would only draw more of them out here… use a knife."

Damn it. I clutch my own knife tighter as I hear the clink and sheen of metal as a knife is pulled out and distributed.

"I'll go find it." The kinda ignorant-sounding voice snorts. Maybe the one who wiped under his nose.

"We stick together." The opposing male voice says; I can hear the annoyance in his smaller tone. "You know that."

He snorts. "Whatever."

"If there actually _was_ a walker. Maybe it was just a squirrel… or something." The woman says.

"Woman! Why don't you just go on back to that piece of shit camp and sit and do your job! We don't need you out here, if you just – "

A swig snaps, and there is a shuffling noise. I hold my breath as the rotty emerges from the woods. Her hair hangs stringy in her face like a mop, tangled and snarled and down-right falling off and volatile. Her eyes glare at me, looking at me only as a meal. The others who I can't see try to take action too late, but I thrust my knife out, yelling as I tackle the "girl". Growls and horrible sounds erupt from her mouth, her rotten breath all too familiar as I plunge my knife deep in her chest and pull downwards until her innards spill out onto my clothing and skin. The stench is fowl and horrible, but she still screeches and reaches for me, her only means of food. I yell once more and slice my knife into her head. She becomes limp, and I feel another pair of arms tugging at my shoulders. I yell louder and plunge my zombie-guts covered blade into the leg of the second creature that is pulling on me.

I know how to deal with these things! Better than anyone but Petey! I spit the blood out of my mouth that must have come from the cut on my gums I must've got when I tackled little-miss-dead over on the forest floor. My knife blade slips across the cheek of the walker, and that's when I smell the scent that is so undead it sees almost unfamiliar. A dirty smell, none the less, but it is the smell of a dirty human being trying to keep clean in the New World. Human blood comes away on my knife and I suddenly wish I could take it all back, but there are a new pair of arms tugging on me again. I fight them, my cap falling off my head, saliva and blood foaming out of my teeth as I struggle against the too-strong arms.

"Get off me! OFF!" I scream, and there are more foot falls, more running into the woods to the scene. I am blinded by the hair that has been ripped into my face, the blood burning in my eyes. I realize that the blood comes from a gash on my forehead, running like thick maple syrup into my eyes, down to my nose. The rust smell hangs close to my nostrils.

"Glenn, I got him, I got him!" the man with the slight accent says in a strained voice as I struggle against him. His arms are muscled, but his body is lanky, and a cross-bow is slung across his back. His hair hangs in his florid, sordid face, his lips chapped and slightly blue.

"Who the hell you callin' a _him!"_ I spit in his eyes, but he is unfazed. I catch a glimpse of the walker I just killed to save their asses as they wrangle me down to the ground, forcing my hands to my back.

"Stay down!" the dirty man yells, his breath freezing in the air, all I can see besides his torso. The rest of my vision is blocked by the freezing ground.

"Daryl!" a shout comes from what I guess is about fifteen or so yards away, and more footfalls come in the grass and fallen leaves. Great. Attract more zombies while you're at it, will ya? Why don't you go fire some shotguns into the forest too, you damn fools… "What happened?"

You really want hillbilly over there to explain, faceless person I can't see? Daryl must be the one who pinned me, with the bow. "He was –"

"_She." _I hiss almost inaudibly.

"Shut up." He kicks my head slightly with the toe of his boot, a harsh nudge. "She musta been hiding out here. Walker came straight out of the woods, she killed it. Then attempted human murder."

"Daryl, it wasn't like that." the first male voice I heard out here speaks. "She probably thought either one of us was a walker. She was just being precautious."

"You say that, but look what she's done to your little pussy southern belle!" he paces like the piece of whitetrash he is, ready to start knocking my already crooked teeth out. If I wasn't pinned, I'd squeeze his nipples so hard he'd never want to take his shirt off again. There is the sound of sobbing, and distress, but I can't see who it is, only that it's a girl. Now it all makes sense; that's the one I must've cut.

"Maggie!" a younger girl cries and there's a thump on the ground. I see her shoes, a pair of ranch boots, and her wet, dirty pants tucked into the edges. Just by her legs, I can tell she's a tiny little things, smaller than me. "Maggie, oh Maggie!"

"I'm alright." Maggie clears her throat, I recognize her as the one who was with the two men. "Just a scratch."

"Scratch, Maggie, that kid stabbed you!"

"Beth, I said I'm fine!" she snaps, and Beth continues to sob.

"Can I get up now?" I say in an almost bored voice. What can I say, the ground it boring!

"Stay down." An authoritative voice speaks, but I don't really sense the cruelty hinted in Daryl's.

"Hard to have a conversation down here on the ground."

There are a few whispers, then the same voice speaks again. "Let her up, but holder her arms."

I'm yanked up by my collar, feeling the grubby hand on my neck as I'm pulled to my feet. I get vertigo for a second but my vision comes into focus. It's dark, as it was before. It must have been about an hour since I hopped out of my tree. No wonder it's completely dark now. My eyes adjust to the dark to see a small group of people standing in a half moon circle, surrounding me, and the oaf that holds my arms behind my back. I tell who people are by feet; the little one I the ranch boots is Beth. I can also tell my her sobbing, and clinging to a short haired woman who must be Maggie. I heard the name Glenn, but I never identified his shoes, so one of the men must be him. I can smell Daryl behind me, holding onto my arms. I can't see his face. I don't know the rest of the people. A fairly large black man is stanched against a tree with a rifle cocked and pointed at me. A woman with short hair shaved like a boy's stands beside him, a frightened innocent look on her face, and another woman with long dark hair who is shivering sandwiches a little boy between them who looks more interested that afraid, wearing a sheriff's hat. An old man with thinning white hair stands over Maggie and Beth. A man wearing a stained t shirt seems to be the only one not pointing a gun at me.

"What's your name?" he says, walking slowly closer to me. Daryl snorts, and I feel his warm breath on my neck.

"Assholes!" I spit at him, whoever the man is. But it feels so strange to be in contact human beings after so long! "Is this how you treat human beings!"

"Yeah, when they're jumpin' on topa other human beings with a knife!" Daryl growls behind me, his voice just in my ear. I elbow him in the ribs, but he barely moves.

"Would someone please get Forghorn Leghorn offa me!" I scream, and chaos erupts again. I somehow get loose of the hillbilly, trying to make a break for it, and I make it into the trees with yelling and footsteps behind me. I scoop up my hat off the ground and continue head over heels, stirring up leaves as I run. I scream at the top of my lungs as a few foul-mouthed rotties emerge in my path, their disgusting decomposing teeth and skin giving off a distinct odor and their broken, raunchy arms reaching for me. The corpses drag themselves after me as I slowly back away, still clutching my hat in one hand, my knife in the other.

An arrow goes by me, barely whizzing past my ear. At first I think it is that dumb bufoon shooting at me, but the arrow impales the closest rot-head coming towards me. I suddenly remember that I am holding a knife and stick it in the closest zombie's head, giving it a twist until it stops struggling. The three go down, and I am on the ground in seconds, but this time, I can tell it isn't Daryl on top of me.

"I'd advise you stop running." The man who wasn't pointing a gun at me breathes hard, and the other footsteps behind him cease. "You're not going to run anymore. Are you…"

"No, sir." I whisper, a sob escaping my lips, but I dry it up before he gets me to my feet. I let them confiscate my knife and pat my pants down for more weapons. An Asian kid, who I learn by their conversation is named Glenn, finds the pocketknife tucked in the side of my shoe, and the amo box in my jacket pocket. Of course, they take my rifle along with the rounds.

"I thought this was the zombie apocalypse, not the Asian Invasion." I snort at Glenn, who pockets the knife for himself.

"Never heard that one before." He rolls his dark eyes. "If I were you, I wouldn't say anything trying."

I pfft. "What, is that guy in charge of you?" I roll my eyes over to the one who didn't point his gun at me, who I learned is named Rick. He looks nice enough, but those ones are always the psychos.

Glenn hesitates. "Kinda."

"So, it's a Ricktatorship?" I smile, but Glenn does not return it. "Was that your girlfriend I sliced?"

He says nothing.

"I thought she was a rotty."

He turns back towards me and adjusts his baseball cap that is pink and orange. It might have been red and orange at one point, but the sun's washed it out to a pink and tangerine color. "Rotty?"

"Yeah, you know… the zombies. Rotties." I toss my shoes at his feet and he picks them up, dumping rounds of ammo out of them a piñata.

Glenn smirks. "Rotties? We call them walkers… or geeks."

"Walkers. Humph, not bad. Not as interesting as geeks. I don't see any glasses and pocket protectors on any of 'em. I've never seen a preppy zombie."

His eyes roll up to meet mine. "That's the modern term for geek… you know, a nerd. But in the circus, there used to be a – well, a distasteful group of performers called geeks. They did stuff like eating hair… biting heads off of birds…"

"Wow, you know a lot… I guess because you're Asian, they're always geniuses."

He scowls. "You should probably stop talking now."

"What, am I your prisoner?"

He doesn't say anything, but that says it all. They tie a rope around my hands behind my back, and bring me to their camp. A lot of them have returned already while I was stripped of my supplies, and the boy with the sheriff's hat automatically stands up when Daryl and the dark man who I learn they call T-Dog leads me to their small enclosure. They all stare at me like I'm an exhibit at a museum, but I just smirk at them. Daryl throws me down to the ground where I am forced to a sitting position.

"Daryl…" the woman with the long dark hair looks up at him. "She's still a kid."

"No I'm not. I'm eighteen."

Mag-pie shuts up as I glare at her. She didn't look too happy to begin with.

"So, is this your sorry excuse for a jail?" I piff. "Not much of a jail."

"We don't gotta answer to you." Daryl paces back and forth. "You're the trespasser."

"Trespasser? Last I checked, the cities owned the roads. And no one owns the cities anymore. So doesn't that make the roads all of ours? I could claim this road if I wanted… you don't own it."

Rick still doesn't draw his gun at me, but crouches down to my height, which is pretty short, considering I am sitting. He looks like a common man. Nothing too handsome or ugly about him, and he looks like an average American man. His nose is a little big, and he's dirty like every other human being left without the use of the shower. Rick's hair is slightly long and he hasn't shaved in a while. But there is a softness to his eyes that makes me want to trust him. Petey didn't like to trust people. He said they drew guns at you. But Rick didn't draw his gun at me when everyone else did.

"Are you hurt?" he asks as it seems like a million eyes are on me.

"No." it's strange, how I don't feel the need to spit in his face.

"You must be hungry." He swallows and I watch his adam's apple go down his scruffy neck.

"Haven't eaten in days." I nod. "You hog tied me, got me thinking about ham, Rick."

He chuckles and rubs his chin on his shirt collar. "What's your name, hon?"

"Why do you need to know? You think I have an army hiding or something? Why should I tell you?"

"Because there are more of us than there are of you. And we have food."

Daryl suddenly yanks him aside, and T-Dog grabs his arm. I can hear them hissing words to each other, rather audibly for trying to be quiet. "Rick! RICK! You can't just walk around giving away our food to strangers you find in the woods! Damn, man! I thought you were much smarter than that!" T-Dag's slight ghetto voice wavers, mixed in with the sound of the fire.

"Man, you wanna go around and give any bitch who tackles a pussy human, be my guest, ain't my call…" Daryl shrugs and paces back and forth.

"She thought I was another walker!" Maggie yells, but Beth tugs on her arm, shushing her. Obviously, Maggie over there has a mind of her own. "She's a bitch, but she's a smart bitch!"

Glenn laughs into his hand, and the kid in the hat laughs boyishly before the dark-haired lady shushes him. I learned that her name is Lori by the others around me. I'm still yet to know the kid's name.

"Maybe if you people had a proper place to wash, I wouldn't mistake country bumpkins for rot-heads." I roll my eyes. "You're set up in the road, come on."

"You were in the woods." Daryl spits saliva onto the ground.

"I was headed out to South Carolina." I decide to tell the truth, since Rick is looking at me, and like I said, I kinda trust Rick.

"What's in South Carolina?" T-Dog begins cleaning out his gun with a raggedly cloth.

I refuse to talk. "I'm not saying anything. Especially since I'm tied up."

"You got other people?" Daryl paces closer. "They're probably watching us now. Gonna ransack us for supplies!"

"Calm down, Digity Dash… I don't have any other people, or whatever. You're the first people I've encountered for months."

"You're alone?" Rick asks.

"Isn't that just what I said?"

"She was alone, in the woods." Glenn clears his throat and inches closer to Maggie. I _did_ get her good on the cheek. Well, it's a good knife I have. Meant for cutting skin. It's the best knife I've ever used for taking down one of those wretched, rotting corpses. Or geeks. Now that I think about it, I kinda like the name Geek for one of them. Rotty is still better, but still…

"Don't mean there aren't others with her."

"You already have my weapons, what're you going on about, Doofasa? I'm tied up! It's not like I'm some crazy-ass mofo struggling against my bindings! You really think they'd miss me? Even if they did, they probably wouldn't come back for me in this crazy-ass world."

"Alright, that's it! YOU DAMN BITCH!" Daryl lunges for me, but T-Dog and Glenn catch him as if he's done this before. I wouldn't doubt it. "WE SHOULD KILL HER NOW!"

Rick yells. "We all just need to settle down, and think this through!"

"That's right, Rick! Always thinkin'! Now we're in this mob a shit!" Daryl spits at the ground again. "Damn stupid, that's what. Kill the dumb _bitch._ We don't have room for another!"

"I saved your ass from a zombie! Suuure, Little Bo Peep got a scratch, but it's better than a torn off face."

"We didn't need no savin'. We take care of ourselves."

They let the point sink in. Rick crouches down to my height again. "What's your name?"

"Paige."

"Paige… where do you come from, Paige?"

"Tennessee. Up in Gatlinburg." Who knows, maybe these people aren't so bad after all? Except Daryl. He's pretty bad.

"Oh, so you've come a long way?"

"Damn straight I have."

He scowls, his face serious, then he rises off the ground. Let me go, I will to whoever is listening. God sure isn't. No one talks to me, and I nod off to sleep against my own shoulder.


	2. Two: America at Its Best

_**Hola! I am baaack! Thank you so much to my reviewers, I forgot to thank anyone that reviews anonymously! Love you guys who do! I would like to say that there is a part in here I put in for Rainbowteeth8, my buddy, you know who you are, sweetie **____** Anyway, this chapter is a little bit longer… and another thing, I do NOT by any circumstances own the song that is in this chapter! It is called Wayfaring Stranger by Ed Sheeran… he owns it, not me, ya'll! Thanks for the reviews!**_

Two: America at Its Best

"You sure about this?"

"Of course I am! When have I never been sure?"

I pull the seatbelt over my torso to protect my body from any type of random object I might run into, and gulp. I feel a trickle of sweat running down the small of my back, and my knuckles turn white as I grip the steering wheel. "Oh, I donno… maybe when you decided to take me in. When you nearly got eaten nearly a thousand times doing something so stupid. Maybe a few other times, I can't think of any."

Petey laughs, his deep chuckle roaming in his chest and off the doors of the car. We picked a good one, with keys still in the ignition, and nothing but a few cracked windows. It's a 90's teal calypso, an ugly-ass little thing, but it has a full tank of gas, and I won't be sorry if I dent it.

"What do I do first?" I ask dumbly. I've lived in Tennessee all my life. I never had a license. I'm guilty for it, and so are a few others I know. While others were taking driver's training, I was off messing around with something else, and the bus to school was never a problem to me. Until the day the strange stories started coming on the news. The first time I saw one of them was at school while I was working on my thesis in the library. I was so close to graduating. Though I never made it. And I never got my driver's license.

"Paige… start the car." Petey raises one eyebrow, like he often does.

"Okay, okay. Don't make a fool of me, I'm just making sure." I turn the key in the ignition, and it grinds to life.

"Not bad for a 90's car, eh? Good choice, sis." His tan lips pull back in a grin. "Okay, now shift the gears."

"What?"

"Hoo, girl, you really haven't ever driven a car! Don't you pay attention when your folks drive?"

"No, because they're never around. Well, they were never around. Just – tell me what to do. I need to learn this, what if you're hurt and you need me to drive, or you throw yourself in the car bleeding and need me to step on it, but –"

"Alright, alright! Jesus! Don't make me sound weak! Okay, hand on the gear shift. D stands for drive, you probably at least know that, and that's the one you gotta know first. R is for reverse, but you probably don't want to start by driving backwards." He shows me the gears to shift the car, and tells me that when the car is in drive, I have to keep my foot on the break pedal to stop it from moving.

He leans back in his seat. "Mmkay, drive."

"What? You haven't even taught me anything!"

"Oh, yeah, the windshield wipers are right here." he presses a button and the wipers squeal and squeak across the dirty windshield. "You aren't going to learn if you don't learn from experience. You know the drive and park gears. Gas. Break. What are you so afraid of?"

I tighten my seatbelt and stare at the open road. "What the hell." I floor the gas pedal and shoot off down the road.

"SLOW DOWN!" Petey yells, but he's laughing. "This thing's got pretty good suspension, for an old thing!" he rolls down the window and sticks his head out, shouting like a maniac. "WOOOOOP!"

I roll my eyes and grip the steering wheel to gain control. "WHOOOO-HOOO!"

Snap, hiss, crackle. I jolt awake at the sound of the popping, pulsating fire. My eyes adjust to the slight glowing light to see a small figure sitting crouched on a log and elbows on knees in the casual stance. I realize that it's the young boy, shaving a large twig with a sharp pocket knife. The sizzling noise is him dropping the shavings in the fire. The large sheriff's hat shadows his face, but I can see that his features are smudged with grime.

He looks at me, his eyes rolling down to meet mine. His are a deep blue color, the kind you only see when you look up at the sky. They look like they're charged electrically by the glowing tinge of the flames, and his brown hair peeks out from the hat. We stare at each other for a long moment then he narrows his eyes.

"Hey." I say just above a whisper. He looks up, but goes back to shaving his stick and throwing the access pieces into the fire. "I'm Paige."

He ignore me, then sets the stick down and sits criss-cross on the log, seeming to be studying me. He's pretty small, but I guess he's yet to hit puberty. Shame, because he's going to be handsome when he does. But for now, he's a little kid. Maybe eleven, twelve or so. I wouldn't guess anything higher. I see the dirt under his fingernails, and the smudges on his face. I wonder what he's been through. Certainly not all I have, but he has probably seen a lot of things a kid shouldn't.

"What's your name?" I try again, but he ignores me, still staring. His little eyes are so strange in that firelight, I wonder if I am still dreaming. I push my shoulders up against the back of the tire my hands are tied to. T-Dog and Daryl had the wonderful I idea that they could tie my hands to the loop in the tire so I couldn't stand up. Right, because I'm going to go anywhere. I can see Daryl dozing off at his lookout post. I wouldn't get two steps with the tire on me, anyway. It's spare weight.

I struggle to sit up, as I've slid down to a slouched position, finally settling on the fact that I can't sit back up all the way again without help. My chin presses into my chest as I pant from the effort. "Do you like that? Woodcarving and stuff?"

He continues to stare, his eyes studying me still. Like he is looking me over.

"I got a pocketknife that's good for that. Your buddy, Glenn, over there, he took it. But I'd let you have it."

He seems successive, but looks over to Glenn who is asleep on the ground. He is leaned against a small tree, his body slumped over on the ground. His breath rises and falls slowly, and he is surely asleep. The girl, Maggie, is asleep as well, leaned against his body, holding his arm like it is a teddy bear. His fingers twitch in his sleep.

His eyes narrow at me.

"Look, kid. I'm not here to hurt you or your people. It was a freak encounter. Just as soon as they let me go, I'll be gone. You'll never hear from me again. I didn't mean to cut that girl over there. Sorry if she's your friend. I'll apologize to her face tomorrow. But how about you help me up? This position's killing me."

Silence.

"Look… I'm not going to hurt anyone, swear. I have something for you if you help me up."

His eyebrows slightly move and then his eyes narrow again. "What?"

Cha-ching. He may be a serious little bugger, but he's in for whatever anyone has to offer. He looks over his shoulder and confirms that everyone is most likely sleeping, and Daryl is perched as the lookout. He is too engaged in "watching" for whatever may come, he doesn't listen to us.

I smile my most friendly smile, which is a little hard – I hate being friendly. "In my back pocket, I have something you might like. Come here."

His feet scuffle on the ground, and he hesitates. "What is it?"

"You have to come get it."

"If you don't tell me, I don't want it."

"Okay." We sit for another ten minutes staring at each other. Waiting for the kid to break. After another five minutes of silence besides a slight snoring coming from somewhere in the group, and the hiss of the fire, he moves again, his foot sliding on the ground. I wait patiently, staring up at him expectantly. He takes slow, subtle steps until he is about three feet closer.

"Well, what's it gonna be?" I raise my eyebrows and cock my head. He kneels on the ground.

"I'll take it."

"Smart kid. Okay, it's in the left – no right pocket, I think. But listen, you only get to keep it if you help me sit up, mmkay?"

He hesitates as I lean forward so he can get into my back pocket. I finally feel his small hand slip into my back pocket, feeling around until his hand slips around the small object, pulling it out. In the light of the fire, he stares in disbelief at the small package of mini jawbreakers, four in total; two purples, a red, and an orange. The paper crinkles in his grubby hand as he feels it to make sure it is real. It is. They've been in my pocket for the past few months. I found them in the glove box of the teal calypso, which I'd decided to keep. It had good mileage, and as Petey said, had good suspension. There was a small grocery bag of candy and sweet, maybe hidden from someone's wife or something, and Petey and I shared it. I saved them in my pocket, and had been waiting for the right moment. When I was depressed, lonely, the last meal I ate would be candy. But this was the perfect opportunity to gain trust. Even from a kid.

"Come on, your end of the deal, kid, remember?"

He clasps his hand around the jawbreakers in the wrapper with a slight crackling sound, and he stands again. At first, I think he's going to walk away with my jawbreakers, my only means of comfort, but he takes me under the arms, and with a slight groan, pulls me to a sitting position against the tire. I can tell how happy he is. It has probably been so long since he's seen such a thing as sugar. Sitting criss-cross on the ground, huddling his elbows to his ribs for warmth, he holds his hand out and studies the candies.

"So… I like your hat." I smile, and I catch a smirk on his lips.

"My dad's." he finally speaks. His voice seems a little too old to be eleven, so he's probably twelve or older. Not much older, though.

"It's a beaut. Really. Nothing like mine." My eyes trail over to my hat that is sitting next to me on the ground, but obviously I can't get it to put it back on. He picks it up, studying the plaid. It's black tattered leather on the sides, and on the brim, and a large stripe goes through the middle that is a red Scottish plaid. The sides flop over the confederate style hat, and the tweed, I know, is soft to the touch. He studies it in his lap.

"It looks old."

"Was my great grand-dad's. I found it in a trunk before all – this happened."

He frowns again, his eyebrows a cliff over his eyes.

"Hey," I chuckle. "It's nice to meet you."

His face becomes softer, more child-like. Not that awfully mature face I saw on him before. "Paige, right?"

"That would be correct, sir."

He chuckles quietly, not quite a childish giggle, not quite a laugh. Then he stops. "What's in South Carolina?"

I'm silent for a long time. "Nothing important to you."

"I wanna know."

"So does that guy Rick, I didn't tell him, did I?"

He glares at me again, all friendliness gone. "Rick is my dad. He's – he's trying to protect us."

"Yeah, he's got you nice and barricaded here in the road, doesn't he?" I suddenly regret it, because I guess Rick is his father.

"He – he knows what he's doing." his face suddenly twists up, like he's going to cry. I feel a deep pain in my chest.

"Hey, hey. Man, don't cry." I hate it when kids cry. "Don't cry, it's all okay. I'm sure your dad will fix you guys up. I'll be gone by then, but he'll – he'll be dandy, okay?"

He wipes his eyes. "I'm such a baby. I don't wanna be a baby."

"Hey… no, you aren't a baby. You're strong. You've made it through this, right? You and me, we're both alive. Isn't that enough?"

He wipes his nose. "Yeah."

"See?" I try to reassure him. I don't really know how, because I don't know any of these people. But I do know that boys have a great love for their father. That means trust. So I try to keep up his hopes. He's kind of cute, in that young way.

There is a slight shuffle and someone in the rows of sleeping "campers" stands up. I can see from the dim firelight that it is blonde Beth. She steps over the bodies carefully and rubs her eyes, pulling her jean jacket close to her body. I slouch slightly and pretend to be asleep, and Carl hides the candy in his pocket.

"Carl?" she calls quietly. So, Carl is his name. He's jumped back onto the log and is busy shoving his dull knife he used before the shave pieces off the stick into his pocket. "What're you doing?"

"I couldn't sleep." I hear him say; my eyes are closed, my chin on my shoulder again.

"Well, neither can I." there's a long moment of silence, and I crack my eyes open a small bit. She's sitting beside him, her arm around his shoulder. She's actually pretty, under that dirt and grime. Her hair would be silken and soft if it weren't twiggy and dirty, and her figure is top par. I am guessing she is around my age. Carl huddles to her for warmth. "Do you want me to sing to you?"

He brings his knees to him chest and thinks for a moment. "It might help me sleep, right?"

She nods and lets him lean against her. She is sweet, probably a farm girl as well as Maggie. Though they look nothing alike, I think they might be sisters, maybe. "Close your eyes, and I'll sing to see if it helps. It's late, and you need to sleep."

He nods against her side. "I'll try."

_She begins to sing._

_I am a poor, wayfaring stranger_

_Traveling through this world alone_

_And there's no sickness, toil, or danger_

_In that bright line to which I go_

_And I'm going there to see my mother_

_And I'm going there no more to roam_

_And I'm only going over Jordan_

_And I'm only going over home now_

_And I know dark clouds, will gather me_

_And I know my way is rough and steep_

_And the beautiful fields that lie just before me_

_And I know my needs are rough and steep_

_And I'm going there to see my mother_

_And I'm going there no more to roam_

_And I'm only going over Jordan_

_And I'm only going over home now_

_Cause I am a poor, wayfaring stranger_

_Traveling through this world alone_

_And there's no sickness, toil, or danger_

_In that bright line to which I go_

_And I'm going there to see my mother_

_And I'm going there no more to roam_

_And I'm only going over Jordan_

_And I'm only going over home now_

Her voice is so beautiful, it almost puts me to sleep. But Carl's face is still troubled and he doesn't look to be drowsy. "Beth, you're a good singer."

Beth blushes. "Thanks. I'm going to go lie down again." she ruffles his hair. "Don't stay up too long."

I can see that Beth is near close to crying when she shuffles back to her spot where she lay close to the white-haired man that must be her father. Her face breaks, and as she lays down on the ground again, she buries her face in her hands to cry. She may have lost something dear to her, the song brought out some memory or something, I don't know. But her sobs are soon silent as her chest rises up and down in fluid sleep.

Carl gets up and wipes his pants down, huddling in the cold. Before he can scuffle back to the others, I whisper.

"Hey, Carl," he turns around. "Thanks."

He turns back around with no expression and slides next to his mother, the woman named Lori. I don't know if he actually falls asleep, but I think I eventually do.

"Mmm… mm. Don't shake me, don't shake me." I mumble, my ragged, tangled brown hair falling across my cheek. I crack my eyes open slowly and realize how sore I am – and exactly where I am. I think I feel a dribble of drool on my chin, but there's no way I can wipe it off, so I pretend it isn't there.

Who is shaking me? Woman with the short grey hair. Well, it isn't entirely grey. It's got a little bit of brown, and black maybe, and it's short like I saw before, like the hair that's grown back on a cancer patient.

"Get off." I growl, shrugging my shoulder to get her hand off.

"We're moving." She speaks softly, kinda softer than the others, I think. I don't really mind her, really. She seems nicer. At least it isn't Daryl. I regret thinking it when he crouches down with a cloth in his hands.

"Well, if it isn't Mr. Twat Chops." I grin sideways at me, and I see his jaw grit and his eyes technically bulge out of his head.

"Why, I oughta –"

The short-haired lady grabs his arm tightly. "Stop it."

"Off me, woman! Damn, you! Get outa my face so I can give our hostage proper attention."

I have a feeling that Daryl was a little too good to hit a girl, but he did think I was a boy the first time he saw me, but I don't say anything. He holds out the blue cloth and shakes it in my face.

"What's that, your ass-rag? Do you put that in your pants to catch the sweat in your crack?"

I'm suddenly half on the ground before I know what's hit me. Head ringing, face stinging, I cry out as he slaps me again, clubbing me again and again. So, maybe he is a chick beater.

"Daryl! Daryl, stop, STOP –" short-haired lady grabs ahold of his shirt and tries to pull him back, but he's raging at me. I sort of sink into myself as she attempts to keep him off of me, and my head rings where he hit me.

"Fine! Dumb bitch!" he pushes the woman off, spitting at my feet. Daryl throws the rag down at my feet and storms away, bobbing his body in that annoyed way that I always used to see my father do. The woman frowns, the corners of her lips pulling down like a depressed gargoyle, and she gathers the swatch of blue cloth in her hands that are red with the cold.

"I'm sorry about him." She says softly.

"You're apologizing to your captive?"

She says nothing, then bunched up the sides of the fabric and makes a suitable blindfold. I don't fight her as she tires it around my head to cover my eyes. I close them so the cloth doesn't end up irritating my eyes, because believe it or not, I've actually been held captive before. Not in this New World day and age, but in high school. A few rooks from the high school we were versing in basketball kidnapped me and held me in their sweaty locker room until after the game. In their defense, I was sorta dressed like a boy, and they thought I was one of the players on the team, because I ducked into the boy's locker room to tinkle, and they swiped me when I was walking out.

"Stay still." I recognize T-Dog's voice as I feel a cold blade cut into the rope holding my hands to the tire. At least they aren't blind-folding me and leaving. Something tells me Rick wouldn't allow that.

I am pulled to my feet with a grunt, and someone plops my hat onto my head, surprisingly. I recognize the weight of it, and the slight tweed smell wafting. With hands behind my back, they are tied again with another piece of rope, and someone leads me. I am told to wait until I'm told otherwise, and I shiver alone for what seems like forever. Then, there are crunching footsteps on the gravel and leaves, and I hear a throat clear.

"I'm sorry you had to sleep like that last night." Rick says. At least I think that it's Rick.

"Hmph, I've slept worse." I shrug to the man I can't see, remembering my many nights sleeping in truck beds and trees. "Why am I blindfolded?"

"We're on the move again."

"So…"

Another particular whitetrash voice speaks. "'Cause we can't have you hollering over to your group, tellin' them where we're taking you."

"Why don't you just let me go?" I roll my eyes mentally, since I can't actually do it under the blindfold. But there is no answer, as I am loaded into what feels like a car, but I can't be sure, it might be a rocket ship or something. Of course it's a car. Everything is very silent for the longest time, but I finally feel the car rumble to life under me. There is a static radio sound, but it soon disappears, and is silent again. I feel my fingers and toes go numb after about – well, however long – and I feel the tip of my nose going cold like someone touched an ice cube to it. After it seems like hours of slowly turning into an ice block, I speak up.

"Whoever is driving this thing, can I please have my blindfold of, at least?"

A few murmurs, my blindfold is removed, and I let my eyes adjust to the light. By the amount of it, I guess it is about sometime around nine or ten in the morning, and Glenn's eyes stare back at me.

"Thanks, bro." I swish the saliva around in my mouth and swallow to settle my parched throat. He nods once and looks down at Maggie, who is asleep against him. I've been shoved in the back seat, and I wondered whose knees were pressed against mine, and I guess they're hers. Her eyelids flutter gently; she's still pretty even though everyone is dirty as hell. Everyone's skin is maculated in a layer of dirt and soot, hair tangled and unwashed. But I shouldn't say anything – I don't look much better.

Glenn is silent as Maggie's fist curls against his chest after a moment. I choose to speak again. "Guess you got stuck riding with the fugitive."

He nods once and I look to the front seat to see who is driving the car. It's an ugly green color, and the back is awfully small, but whatever. T-Dog is driving the little thing – it makes me miss my Calypso.

"Time is it?" I lean my head back casually on the window, though I feel my hair might get frosted to it if I stay like this long.

"9:30." Glenn says, and T-Dog grunts in unison under his breath. Maggie continues to sleep, and sort of mumble in her sleep, saying a few intelligible words, then going back to mumbling nonsense.

"She always do that?"

"What?" Glenn lowers his dark eyes to meet mine.

"You know… talk in her sleep like that."

He nods. "Far as I know, yeah."

"You think that's hot?"

"Kinda." He smirks. This guy might be alright. He's a little handsome. No offense to Asians, but I think that sometimes they just look the same as each other. But occasionally there are some that are exotically beautiful, different looking, a little more American looking. That's him. He looks like he might've been the kind to play World of Warcraft, but all the same, he's not bad looking. I watch the truck in front of us rumble down the road for a while, the taillights staying in the dim light like a shallow glow, and I think I drift off again with my hands still behind my back.

Maggie kicks me on the way out of the car. I startle awake, and am blindfolded again from behind. "Out you go." T-Dog says, lifting my stiff body out of the car. More car doors slam, and I wonder where we are. My feet shuffle on the ground as he pushes me forward, leading me. I am forced to my knees, and I feel so disoriented that I sway a little.

"Hello? Someone tell me what's going on?"

There is no answer. I start to worry. "Hello?" no answer again, and I hear car doors shutting, engines starting. "Hello? Hello! Where are you going?"

The sounds of a car and a motorcycle, maybe, fade into the distance and I thrash around, waiting for someone to come and get me. "Hello! No, no, don't leave me, don't leave me! DON'T LEAVE ME, YOU SORRY BUNCH OF ASSHOLES! CARL! CARL, REMEMBER OUR TALK, REMEMBER! DON'T LEAVE ME MAN, DON'T LEAVE ME! COME BACK! I'LL GIVE YOU MORE JAWBREAKERS, MAN! PLEASE! SOMEONE, COME BACK!" I let my thrashing torso fall onto the hard ground. I whisper. "Come back."

I sob, the tears catching on the fabric of the blindfold, the cold air around me like a wall of ice pushing on my chest. My breath comes in huffs, my nose running. I hate how I can't wipe it! I try and yank my hands from the bindings, but there is no use. I have no knife to cut them, and I don't even know where I am. They are probably all driving far away by now, on their merry way out into that world full of those rotting corpses. I am forced to wait here until a few of them wander along and dig into me like Old Country Buffet, if I don't die here first.

"Please, you heartless, numb, cruel bitches must have a little heart, how can you _do_ this to a human being. I thought we were all _allies_ in this world." I rasp, suddenly wishing for the comfort of my musket pressed against my back. The weight of my hat on my head. The comfort of being alone that was oh so horrible, but also oh so familiar. I feel the deep tearing in my chest, the cutting effects of what I have become.

Curling in a ball, I sob until I am overcome with such pain that I have not a sound, not a word, phrase, whisper, cry. Nothing. Then, I hear the voice.

"Are you through crying?"

I lift my head, my head turned in the direction of the voice. "Who's there?"

"It's Rick, Paige."

"GOD DAMNIT, YOU ASSHOLE! YOU ASSHOLE! BITCHIN' ASSHOLE, DAMN! HOW DARE YOU LEAVE ME HERE! HOW DARE YOU! I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING TO YOU, AND YOU LEAVE ME OUT – WHEREVER THIS IS, IN THE MIDDLE OF FUCKING NOWHERE! HELL ON EARTH, RICK, HELL ON EARTH, I WILL CUT YOU SO BAD IT WON'T EVEN BE FUNNY –" suddenly, I don't feel like I can't cry anymore; somehow my body finds it in me, and I break down sobbing. "Rick, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for attacking your friend, or whatever she is, Maggie, I was – it was an adrenaline rush. I've been alone so long, God, I couldn't even keep track of the days, and – Rick, I'm – I'm just not sure, I'm just not sure!" I sob into the ground, my back corrupted in a sway at the back as I kick on the ground, helpless like a fish out of water. "I – I saw the rotty, I was hiding from your people in the woods! I was afraid, and I tackled her, God please forgive me, Jesus, hell, forgive me."

His hand pushes the blindfold up onto my forehead, and I see that we are on the side of a deserted road, the middle of God knows where, and there is a slight dew set eerily on the road. The only vehicle I see is an older model red truck parked a way down the road, but enough not to be swallowed by the fog. His face is grave, and he studies mine, which is most likely horrible, puffy, red, I can feel that it is wet. "Are you alright?"

"Alright!" I snap, sniffing, but my nose still runs in the cold. "You left me out here!"

"I was here the entire time." His slight accent drawls, and I cough, still laying like a slug on the ground without any means of getting up. "I was waiting for you to break down."

"Sicko." I scowl.

"No… not like that. I'm no sadist." I know he's not. I trust his eyes. Petey taught me how to read people's eyes. "I wanted you to calm down a little. See that you're still human."

Damn you. Why are you so smart? No wonder you're a leader to these people. They need someone like him. And I see why he's gotten them this far. "Of course I'm still human."

He nods. "How about we talk. I'll cut you free, and you can run if you want, Paige. I'm not going to keep you captive anymore, alright? We can walk and have ourselves a little talk. How does that sound?"

"Sounds pretty shitty of you to act like you're Mr. Blithe-Sunshine-Rainbow, but seeing as my other choice is run into the fog like a fucking idiot, I'll walk with you."

He cuts my bindings with a knife, and my arms feel cramped and I crack my shoulders. I immediately notice as he helps me to my feet that my rifle is slung over his shoulder, but I don't say anything. We start to walk slowly down the deserted road away from the truck. I swing my arms dumbly, to wake them up because they are actually quite numb.

"Tennessee…" he says after we walk a few yards.

"Yeah, American at Its Best." I say, repeating the state motto that my dad always used to say when I said I hated my life and step-mom.

"Then, why South Carolina?"

"While I breathe, I hope Ready in soul and resource." I smirk. Petey was the one who must have said that to me a million times a day when he had his dream of making it all the way to South Carolina. "That's their state motto. Seems ironic that that's where I was headed."

"Why's that?" he rubs his chin with his fingers as if he is thinking.

"Mmkay, look, see… I was headed there because – before I was alone, you know, I had a friend with me. He said that he was headed there because he had a cousin who was a prepper. You know what a prepper is? It's someone who thinks that the end of the world is coming, right? And before all this shit broke out, he talked to him, and he told him to come down there when weird stuff started happening. He's got oodles of stuff – supplies, ammo, probably weapons. Surplus of food, I reckon. And these rotties, see, they were attacking me. I was being closed in on, he shows up, yells "get in!", and 'cause I was desperate, I dove in. He screeched away like a reckless hooligan, but he said I could come with him to his cousin's in South Carolina, where he had all the stuff necessary for survival. Because he's a prepper."

Rick stares at me. "Oh."

"Yeah." I scuff the toe of my boot on the ground.

"I never caught your last name, Paige."

"I never said… Paige Swift." I thrust out my hand and shake his vigorously.

"Rick Grimes."

A smile tugs at my lips. "You're alright, Rick. Better than Bubba Cleofus Joe." I snort, and Rick laughs a little through his nose.

"Daryl is alright, as long as he's contained."

"You say."

He stops walking and says. "Can you shoot?"

"Course I can't, I have a gun for nothing." I roll my eyes. "Gimme my gun, I'll show you." I nod to a stray corpse lolloping out of the dark like a diseased animal. It grunts each time it takes a step, ragged clothes swinging, teeth gnarled, skin falling off. The works.

"The noise –" he starts, but I roll my eyes.

"Silencers." I pfft out of the corner of my mouth and look into the accurate sight. Pulling the trigger, I blow the sucker's head off with only a tiny kick from the gun that I'm used to. It goes down, and Rick nods approvingly.

"Where'd you learn?"

"Grand dad taught me. I've been shooting since I was at least ten." I smile almost gloatingly, but he doesn't seem to mind.

"Excellent." He smiles a warm smile, but his face is filled with worry, as always. "Come on, let's get to the truck before that walker draws more."

He leads me back to the old red truck, and I slide into the passenger side. "Rick?"

"Yeah?" he drives with his wrist on the steering wheel, and his hand draped over it casually.

"Your people are good, you know."

"I know." He nods.

"And if I'm going all the way to South Carolina… I don't really see anything in going alone if I know you're struggling out here."

He looks at me out of the corner of his eyes. "I see."

"You can come. If you want." I say quietly, and he smiles, pulling the truck over to the side of the road. He stares at me, and I suddenly wonder if he is mad. "Food. Supplies. Medicine. Shelter."

"It's our best bet." He takes my shoulders. "Are you positive that this place exists? You're positive?"

"Pretty much, yeah." I nod. "It's legit. We'll have to cypher gas out of some cars before we leave, but since I'm alone I wouldn't mind sharing with you. Your people are good. And I'd rather not spend my life alone fighting the dead." I grin sideways at him.

His jaw tightens as he grips my shoulders. "Thank you."

I nod again, for what seems like the millionth time. "As long as – dippity doo da stays alright…"

He chuckles. "He'll be under control, Paige." He clasps my hand in a friendly encounter. "Thank you."

I stare deep into his worried, blue eyes. "That your wife? The tall one?"

"Yes… my wife, Lori," he sighs. "And my son, Carl."

I smile out of the corner of my mouth. "Carl's good… your group is good."

"I know. They are."

We are quiet for a moment, but not really awkward. "That was a smart thing you did, Rick. Letting me cry myself out like that, yeah?"

He smiles. "I know exactly how teenagers work. I've dealt with a lot in my days as a deputy."

"Ah, deputy. You were an officer. Well, I guess you still are. Oh, and Rick?"

"Hm?"

"Don't you dare ever tell anybody about my crying, alright?"

Rick chuckles.


	3. Three: Thank you for shopping

_**Ello! Good to see you again! it's just Liz! Hope you are enjoying the story, and here is le chapterio new-o! I hope you like it! And by the way, I will be posting a soundtrack for this story soon! ~Liz~**_

Three: Thank you for shopping, and have a nice day

"What's that?" Carl's eyebrows furrow as I carve my knife into the tip of the bullet to make an "X". He watches intently as I shave a little off the sides and wipe the side of the knife on my jeans.

"This makes the bullet narrower. So it'll explode more when you hit something."

"Cool, can I try?" he flips out his knife. It looks like an Epic, but I can't really be sure. I chuckle softly.

"Carl, I'm not sure your mom…"

"It's okay. She won't mind." He smiles. "Please? I wanna try."

I give into his pleading eyes and hand him a lead bullet. "Kay, you press the blade of the knife right here, there you go. Now, make an even X. Right."

He looks up at me with a smile. "You're pretty cool."

I feel my ears flush with hotness, and I look into my lap. Like I said, I'm not really great with kids, and to be truthful, kids aren't really good with me. I spent the entire seven years of my half-brother's life trying to steer clear of him, which worked to an extent. He stopped trying, and found friends. But Carl is different. I actually like him, for some reason, which is strange, because I really have never liked a kid before. Kids are needy; they need attention, they're always complaining, and they always want something from you. But not Carl. He has this innocent feeling to him, and he isn't one of those average kids that take and take from you. I feel differently about him. Strongly about making him my friend. I know I have to earn the trust of the others, but I have if from Carl already. It's just the kid in him, I think.

"Thanks." I say quickly, almost too fast to be a word. "You're alright too, man." I playfully knock him in the shoulder with my knuckles. He smiles, happy to have my approval. It's obvious; he doesn't have any playmates his age, or even friends. I'm the closest to his age, I guess. Beth is already kind of his friend. I guess he just wants to be approved by someone close to his age. It's kind of flattering, actually, how he wants to be my friend. After all, he's only what, twelve?

"Carl?" a voice calls behind us, and we both turn around. We're both sitting on a large tree branch, our legs dangling off of it. It's just at the line of the woods, so always within someone's sight. This is where Carl and I have been hanging out for the past couple of days.

"Yeah, Mom?" he calls to his mother, who is Lori, Rick's wife. She is quite pretty, even without makeup, or fancy stylish clothes.

"Dinner, how about you come up here and eat some?"

"Coming." He slides off the branch, his feet hitting the ground with a thud. "Aren't you coming, Paige?"

"Yeah, coming." I slip my Xed bullets back into my back pocket and hike back up the riff. Lori stops me.

"Paige…"

"Sorry, I know, I shouldn't have let him play around with bullets and stuff, I'm sorry."

"No… it's not that. Carl hasn't really been – happy in a while." It's strange, no one's really been happy. "You've made him happy in a way I haven't seen in a long time."

"I don't know where you're going with this." I adjust my hat, pushing it back on my forehead.

"Thank you." She suddenly hugs me, her arms around my back. She radiates warmth, and though it is a short embrace, I feel a little warmer after. "Carl needed a friend."

I smile slightly. Lori isn't all that bad either. She's raised up a good son. "Carl's a good kid."

"He is… he's been – different since we've been out here. Hardened. I know he'll never have the childhood that we did, but I still want his life to be fulfilling. Even in this world." She sighs, rubbing her hands together for warmth. "Are you hungry?"

"Starved." I rub my stomach through my light coat, the only one I have. I guess I wasn't thinking when I ran for my life when the dead were knocking at my door. I walk back with Lori to the others who are gathered around the hood of an old red truck where some food is set out. I'm not exactly sure, but I think Lori gently pats me on the back. I know I have earned her trust through her son.

"This is all we have?" Daryl's eyebrows furrow slightly at what is left of the food and water. There are a few packs of beef jerky, and a few cans of food. They look like they could be peaches or pears, condiment beans, and corn.

"We're saving the rest for the trip to the Carolinas, and even that isn't enough." Carol, the one with the shorter hair says, crossing her arms and tucking her hands in her elbows to keep them warm. "We'll just have to make do." She looks to Daryl, her eyes stern and telling all. Shut up, Daryl. About time someone told him.

Rick rations the food supply, making sure we all get some, and we sit on the ground to eat. on my plate, I have one pear slice, a spoonful of pinto beans, and a few pieces of beef jerky. Carl sits cross-legged next to me and scarfs his food down like it'll disappear if he doesn't eat it quickly. I'm only just finishing off my pear when he's done.

"Hungry?"

He nods, then looks at his empty plate. I slowly slip him a piece of beef jerky. He starts to shake his head, but I force his hand to close over it. I don't want to make a scene, but I'm not going to let him go hungry. I look up to see three pairs of eyes staring at me. One pair are T-Dog's dark brown ones that look almost black. The other two are Carol and Hershel's, Maggie and Beth's father with white hair and a scruffy face. Each one of them saw me give Carl my own food. T-Dog continues to chew and pretend like he didn't, but I know he did. Hershel looks me straight in the eyes then looks away, but Carol keephs her gaze on me. I don't know what her expression says. Sympathy? Affection? Has something changed between us? I quickly pretend like it never happened and go back to picking at my beans with half of a plastic fork.

Carl smiles at me when I get up to stretch, still chewing. "Where're you going?"

"To find a place to toss this. Drink the rest of this." I hand him my cup of water that is still halfway full and walk towards the truck. I find an old plastic bag in the bed of the truck and shove my plate into it, sitting on the opened hatch of the truck, dangling my feet. I watch my breath freeze in the air as I feel the truck slightly shake from the weight of another person. I look up to yell at Carl to get back with the others, but it is Maggie.

"I saw you give your food to Carl."

I press my palms to the bed of the truck. "Great, so you saw it too…"

"You're not all hard. I know you aren't. I've seen Carl follow you around like you're some mentor or something. He looks up to you."

"Why, next thing you know he'll be slicing you too." I kick my feet harder, like if I do, somehow I can make the truck move like a boat in the water with oars. Maggie actually chuckles.

"No… but I really did see you slip him your food. You try to put up this 'hunter, lone-wolf' façade, but it doesn't work forever." She swings her legs like mine. "You're not the only one who needs someone to lean on."

"You have Glenn, though."

"You have Carl now."

I hop down from the truck bed. "I don't have anyone."

"As much as you deny it, you do." She puts her hands on her prominent hips, her lips pursing. "And I know you see Carl that way."

"Maybe I do, maybe I don't."

"It's been two days, and you already care for him."

"Yeah, I do."

"Think about it." She walks away back to the group. I stare out at the woods, thinking about running, being myself again. That loner, just trying to make it to that safe haven that I know in my heart does exist. Then I look back to the others. Together, on the ground in a circle, eating condiments and drinking old bottled water. I look at Carl looking at me, waiting for me to return. He doesn't want me to leave.

I turn towards them, walking back and taking my seat. This is my group, now. My people. And they accept me as part of that now. And so do I. I accept that I will protect any one of them with my life, as much as I want to embrace my runner-self. Carol smiles at me, and I smile back; something I hardly do.

Daryl was right about the food supply being low. About our second day on the road, my stomach feels so hallow that it feels like it's been ripped out and replaced with an empty jar. It usually wouldn't take days like this to get to the Carolinas from Georgia, but we are forced to slowly inch our way along the highways, sometimes only stopping to syphon gas and turn around because the roads are jammed with cars. Within the first day, we use up most of our supply of food, and there is only water left by midmorning. Even that is scarce.

"What do we do?" Carol huddles close to me, wrapping her light jacket tighter around her. We've just finished syphoning gas out of the cars that block our path yet again. The roads to Atlanta were pretty clear, but backups to South Carolina seem to be a bigger problem.

"Wasn't there a big store a way back? I think I saw it." Glenn pipes up, inching his arm around Maggie. We all look horrible and exhausted. We've barely eaten in days, and the water situation isn't too good either.

I recall seeing the store as well. The parking lot was mostly deserted , and it was nestled in the rock and trees like it didn't belong there. It was night when we drove past, so I didn't get a good look. I recall this because Beth had been sleeping against me, who apparently shares the same talking-in-her-sleep like her sister, so I couldn't sleep.

"It wouldn't hurt to check things out." T-Dog pants, his breath ice in the air, like a miniature smokestack. "We need food, water…"

"Warmer clothes." Lori adds as Carl huddles in his jacket, shivering. "We can't afford to lose gas running the cars for warmth."

"Walkers probably own the place." Daryl spits on the ground, wearing only a long-sleeved shirt. He doesn't seem to be affected much by the cold. "How many rounds we got left?"

"Not much." I retort, holding up my back of ammo, shaking it. "Only what I have." Which is not enough. Daryl shrugs his shoulders.

"How much you got?" he turns to Glenn, who checks his gun.

"Six rounds, and this." He pulls his hooked machete out of its leather sheath.

"I have my knife too." I pat the old leather pouch I keep on my hip.

"So it's settled, we'll go back to the store. Even if just to check it out." Rick clears his throat and sniffs.

"Wait, you aren't just going to leave us here." Carol interjects. "We're all going, what if something happens."

Rick retorts, pacing back and forth. I've noticed that he does this a lot when he is thinking. "Everyone armed. No one without a weapon… we need all the protection we can get. We have each other's backs, and no one without a partner. Understand?" he looks directly at Carl, who nods, sticking close to Lori's side, huddling in his jacket.

"Come on, back in the car." Lori pushes him by his back, and he climbs back into the seat. I put my hand on Beth's back gently and push her towards the truck. Hershel pats his hand on my shoulder and follows us back to the vehicle as well. I already like Hershel… he's that kind of hardened old man that looks so cute on the outside, but really isn't afraid to cuss you out on the outside, then chew out his twenty-two-year-old daughter for swearing. I've heard him mutter 'watch your mouth' to Maggie more than once.

We slide back into the car and buckle, Hershel in the front passenger side, and Beth and I in the back. As T-Dog slides into the front seat, I catch the reflection of myself in the side mirror on the door. My face is streaked with smudges of dirt and my hairline has a slight receding layer of dirt that looks like I've been rubbed in the dirt for hours. It's been a while since I saw myself, and the sight almost scares me. I'd prefer not to see myself again. That is not the person I knew last time I saw her.

"What's wrong?" Beth asks in her soft voice that is at least an octave higher than mine. Not too high, but my voice has always been low for a girl's. Maybe that is why some people mistake me for a teenage boy going through puberty.

"Nothing." I smile slightly at her, and she covers her mouth with her elbow to cough. It kinda worries me, because it isn't just a regular cold-cough, it is deep and rattling. I've been listening to her cough for the past two nights in the car, but it seemed harmless until now when it makes me flinch it is so deep. "You okay?"

She takes a deep breath. "Yeah. Let's just go."

I shrug and lean my head against the window, leaning my gun against my knee. Hershel loads a few rounds in his gun from my ammo bag, and T-Dog starts the wreck up again, doing a u-turn, following the green Hyundai.

Glenn is right. There is a store, an old WalMart straight off of the highway. We park the cars far enough away from the parking lot, so if need be, we can make it back to them out of harm's way, but far enough away that we can go inconspicuously without the rotties noticing us. Rick says they're attracted to sound, I guess I never noticed before. I thought it was always just the smell of flesh, but I could be wrong.

I let my gun down and duck behind a few abandoned cars. There are too many of the rot-heads for me to count. All they're doing is roaming around aimlessly, not even noticing if they bump into each other. Groans and moans create a tapestry of eerie background music as Rick speaks in a hushed voice.

"We'll all fight our way in together."

"You can't be crazy, we're not going in there!" I hiss under my breath. "You know how many of them there are! We can't fight them off ourselves! Won't there be more on the inside?"

"You'd be surprised." Daryl snorts, loading his crossbow with a feathered arrow. "They got no reason to get inside, yeah? Why break down doors if there ain't any people inside? Common sense…"

I roll my eyes. "We're just going to fight our way in, then? That's the grand plan?"

"What else do we have?" Glenn says, cocking his _Mossberg_ with his left hand.

"And besides, we need supplies. Food, water, clothes…" Carol says. I guess I have no other choice.

"Alright, everyone needs to pay close attention. We're going in as a group, and out as a group. No one is left alone, and everyone is armed at all times. If you are to get separated, don't leave the building on your own. Never leave on your own unless absolutely necessary. Use your knives, not your guns. We need to save ammo as much as possible."

"We just gotta fight our way back in and out. Ain't no way they're gonna get in after us. See those doors?" Daryl points towards the side doors that from what I can tell have handles. "In through those, and then we'll lock them. Then we can probably get back out through the back. Ain't no walkers gonna get in once we're in."

"Carl, with me at all times." Lori looks her son down in the eyes, her expression stern. Glenn kisses Maggie once on the forehead, and Daryl gives Carol a look that says "If you don't keep yourself self, I might have to beat you later", though I know he wouldn't really. They have a strange relationship I can't explain, not even begin to understand. Carl brushes my shoulder.

"Be careful." I tell him, sliding my knife out of its hip sheath.

"I know." He says as I pat him on top of the hat. His Epic is flipped out in his hand, and he wears a determined expression.

"Everyone, within proximity. Always have someone near. Once we're all in, we can barricade." Rick says as I rise up halfway from my crouch. I've never fought so many of them before, even with Petey. The herd of them is thick, a crowd of gray and the smell of rotting flesh. Horrible stench fills the air as I leap into the crowd along with the others.

The first one I kill is the first one that comes at me. It stumbles over like a deranged Frankenstein, shoes scuffling on the pavement, over the yellow lines of the parking spaces. I plunge my knife deep into its skull with a sickening hallow and squish sound. I push my way through a few of them, still clutching to my rifle just in case. For some reason, I remember my father never liked me shooting a rifle. I couldn't have been more than ten or eleven when my grand dad taught me how to shoot. It took me a while to get used to the kick of his two-barrel gunner, but the one I have now doesn't have much of one.

Dad always used to say that I should be more into dolls and coloring like other girls my age, but no, I was too into going shootin' with grand dad. He was a softened old man with a beard to make his complexion even softer, with robin egg blue eyes. In fact, Hershel kind of reminded me of him a little bit.

"Uuuuuunnnnhh!" one of them tries to grab me, and panicking in the moment, I thrust out my knife and stab it in the chest. It staggers back and I shoot the gap and run. Why do the doors seem so far away! Damn it!

I fight my way through half of them, running almost purely on adrenaline, slicing rotty after rotty. Two of them grab for me out of nowhere, and I scream, slicing one so hard that their arm starts to dangle. It is already falling off to begin with, and I duck under the arms of the other one and sprint for the doors of the store, following Maggie as she bolts as well. I grab a stray shopping cart that has been long tipped over and slightly rusted as I run, using it to ram the rotties out of the way. Feeling as if I will burst with adrenaline and the rush, I throw myself into the lobby of the doorway, holding the door behind me. T-Dog, Rick and Daryl are fighting off the few that have realized that we're inside now and are trying to get to the doors as well. Until everyone is inside, T-Dog, Daryl, and Rick continue this.

I pull my shirt away from my chest, feeling swat forming between my breasts as I take note of the shape that everyone is in. Carl is panting against the wall with blood on his shirt, spattered on his face, and Glenn has splotches of blood on him as well. Hershel is panting so hard it sounds like he is going to keel over any minute, and Beth has gone into a coughing fit, her breath wheezy and short. Rick and Daryl lock the main doors, the gigantic bolts sliding into place, and they pant as well.

Carl actually runs and hugs me. "What?" I ask, looking down at him. A line of sweat drips down from under his hat.

"You're okay." He smiles.

"Of course." I pat his hat and go to open the door of the indoor entrance. "After you." I hold the door for each of them, then walk in myself. The store is littered with merchandise on the ground, scattered and unevenly spread like a small tornado could have gone through here. It is quiet, deserted, besides the groans and hungry yells coming from outside as they press themselves against the glass like children outside a toy store.

It looks almost untouched, like none of the merchandise has been picked over. I pick up a blue plastic basket with the faded white letters painted "WalMart", and start down an aisle. "I'm going to look down here."

"I'll go with you." Beth follows me. Funny how a couple of days in the car with someone can bring you closer together. I guess I can call Beth my friend. We're within the same age, and we sleep against each other every night. Her boots click on the ground as we head down an aisle, stepping over the merchandise and debris on the floor. A horrible smell enters my nose, and i make a face as I step over a carton of spilled milk that has turned into fermented, spoiled cheese on the floor. A few other broken cartons litter the aisle as well, and I'm careful not to step on the white, chocolate, and strawberry rotten custard that was once milk on the tile.

"Oh, yuck." I plug my nose and let Beth hold my arm so she doesn't slip in the crud. It's in milky, podgy puddles, and is slippery like butter. She covers her hand over her mouth and begins coughing again. Again, I am startled by it. It isn't loud or obnoxious, but still, it is quite startling.

"Hey, hey, hold on a second." I put my hand on her back as she leans against a miss-matched row of stuffed animals, some of which have stuffing falling out of them. She coughs into the crook of her elbow and puts the other hand over her chest. I feel her ribcage rattle as I hold her straight, her breaths deep as she struggles for air. "Hold on," I leave her for a moment and paw through the aisle of knocked-over drinks a few lanes over and return with a bottle of water for her. She tries to open it but her hands shake with tremors, so I do it for her. She takes it graciously and drinks about half before she can get the cough under control.

"Thanks." She nods, sipping more.

"You alright? That isn't a good cough." I shake my head.

"I'll be fine. I get asthma sometimes… it comes and goes. It usually happens in the fall like this." She runs her fingers backwards though her hair, tucking the loose pieces of her ponytail back. Just in case, I keep my hands sort of hovering behind her as we explore the aisles, so if need be, I can catch her again. She doesn't cough much again, not like a moment ago, so I stop worrying.

We paw through the aisle, and surprisingly, some of them are still intact like on your average day in WalMart. Beth picks up a tube of pink lip gloss, tearing off the plastic wrapping over the cap and unscrewing it. "I always loved the smell." She smiles warmly, closing her eyes and holding the applicator under her nose. I notice a reddened mark on her left wrist. I've seen a scar like this before. Quietly, I push my coat back to peak at my own scar that is alike, though faded and white.

"Paige? Paige, open up, you don't want to do this!" Petey yells, his voice urgent. "Open up, please!"

"Leave me be, damn it! Leave me the fuck alone, this isn't your decision, Petey!" I scream, fumbling in the bathroom for something to use. I find a sharp pair of nail scissors in the broken-mirrored cabinet, pulling my shirt back. "I wanna go, Petey!"

"I'm breaking down the door!"

_Slit. _I barely feel the pain on my right wrist as I slice into my skin, feeling the hot blood spilling over like some sick form of rain.

"You okay?" Beth says, her voice calling me back to reality. I pull my sleeve back over my wrist.

"I'm fine, come on, let's get back to looking."

She nods and I follow her down the aisle of other beauty products. Shampoos, conditioners and soaps, some knocked over on the floor and a few in the back still on the shelves. Powder makeup paints the floor as well, along with spilled and dried bronzers and finishers. The tiles are swirled in a vast land of color and spilled beauty products, it almost looks deliberate, like a collage. Beth leans down and picks up a small bottle of nail polish, running her thumb over the tiny black letters that say the name of the color, _alligator purse, _which is a deep brownish-maroon.

"I used to love to paint my nails." She smiles, looking at her own nails. She's the kind of person to have nice nails that she doesn't even bite. Mine happen to be the exact opposite – dirt caked under the shortened stubs of nails. Somehow, she manages to keep them clean. She leans down and picks up another color. _Cobalt blue. _She smiles. "This was my favorite color to paint them. I had a bottle of this at home."

I shrug. "Keep it." Her eyes roll to me and back to the tiny bottle. I shrug again. "Not like anyone has money anymore."

She smiles and tucks it safely into her messenger bag. I nod and smile back at her. "Come on, let's go find some clothes. I can't stand these same old ones anymore." I've been wearing the same three pairs of underwear for the entire time since the dead started walking again. Not to mention I wouldn't mind a new pair of pants. Mine are a little pathetic, ripped and the band keeping them up ripped out. The only thing really holding them up is the rope around my waist and a piece of electrical tape.

Carol and Lori are already pawing through the clothing selection. I don't blame them, their clothes aren't in better shape than mine. Carl sits on top of a display with a sign for buy two pairs of jeans get one half off, eating a box of crackers.

"Carl, come try this on." Lori holds up a new shirt for him, and he groans.

"Mom…"

"Come on, mister." She sighs and shakes the shirt on the hanger. "I'm waiting."

He grumps and slides down from the display, pulling the shirt on after pulling his other one off. I smile. "Looking sharp, Carl." And head over to more of my section of clothing. Beth lingers close, picking herself out some new clothes. I pick myself out a few new shirts, one of which being an emerald green button-up with cut-off sleeves at the elbows, pulling on a new t shirt on under it. It feels nice to have new fabric on my skin, instead of the usual threadbare fabric of my old shirt. The jeans I find fit me snuggly, and I take another pair in my size, tucking them in my bag. Next I shed my jacket that is ripped and torn, picking out a brown leather coat with a soft, warm padding inside. It seems so strange to just be taking clothes, but the whole "money" system doesn't really exist anymore, does it?

"Beth, I'll be over here." I call, and she nods, a few shirts folded over her arm. I wander into the footwear section where I can still have my eye on Beth so we're not alone, as being caught alone is not a good thing. Pulling out boxes until I find my size, I pull on a new pair of brown leather boots with ties in the back, leaving my beat-up boots to fend for themselves. Ironically, they fit perfectly. I always asked for a pair of boots like these, but my mother always said that they were much too expensive, and I never got them. On the floor, I find a pair of gloves; the kind that has the mitten part buttoned back and fingers that are half cut off.

Looking in the side-mirror of a nearby dressing room, I check out my new get-up, fanning my hair that is tangled under my cap. I've always sort of rocked the homeless look, but who can be picky in the apocalypse? My reflection isn't so bad now, not as bad as it was in the mirror a while ago. Maybe half of it was the horrible clothes.

"What do you think?" I return to Beth, who smooths a new softened blue shirt over her stomach. She smiles.

"It's nice. Think you could help me get some new shoes?" her eyes trail down to her boots that have bits of leather peeling away. I take her back to where I found my new boots, and she chooses a new pair of black boots with buckles at the sides.

"Might as well get a couple of extras. I don't hate anything more than wet feet." I check the sizes and shove a pair of red converse into my bag, along with a new package of socks. We head back to Lori, Carol, and Carl. Carl is still stuck modeling new shirts.

"Don't you look nice." Carol smiles slightly at us when she sees our new clothes.

"Come on, Carl, wanna go look for some food or something?" I ask, trying to save him from trying on any more clothes.

"Can I go, Mom?" he pleads, picking his sheriff's hat off the floor and plopping it back on his head again. Lori sighs, considering.

"Listen to Paige and Beth, and no fooling around, alright?"

"Thanks!" Carl sprints away from the "catwalk" so fast that I have to catch him. Beth puts her arm around him and we walk him to the aisle of abandoned food. I rip open a bag of Cheetos and pop two at a time into my mouth. They're a little bit stale, but it's been so long since I've had luxury food. Carl chugs a bottle of Kool Aid in less than a minute, tossing the carton on the ground with a laugh.

"Now I remember why I never drank Kool Aid… it tastes like fermented artificial raspberry." He smirks.

"Yet, you drank it anyway." I smile and kick his bottle away out of the aisle. "Beth, are you okay?" I notice her leaning against the wall of chips and drinks, rubbing her hand over her chest.

"Fine." She notices us watching, ceasing her rubbing. "Just… cough… it kind of hurts to cough." As if on a timer to her words, she coughs deeply again, into her arm, then rubs her chest again, moaning softly.

"Here." I hand her another water out of a case halfway falling off the shelf, uncapping it for her again. "Drink that."

She takes a tiny sip as I tuck a few waters in my bag. "Thanks."

"Let's go look for some Tylenol or something for you." I put my hand on her back gently and push her down the aisle, and finally find the aisle with the hanging sign that says "pharmacy". Rick and T-Dog are already raiding the behind-the-counter products.

"Damn, girl. You clean up nice." T-Dog shrugs while reading the label of a safety-capped bottle.

"Thanks." I duck down the aisle and curse. "Shit." The bottles are littering the floor, all mixed up. We crouch down. "Okay, look for pain killers or something."

After a few minutes of looking, Beth uncaps a bottle and takes a few tiny red pills, washing them down with the rest of the water. I pocket the bottle of pills for later.

"Can we go look at backpacks?" Carl asks as I pull him to his feet. "I need a new one."

"Yeah, sure. Beth, you coming with us, or staying with them?" I refer to T-Dog and Rick, still picking which medicines will be the most useful. Beth follows us to the camping supplies, where the backpacks most likely are. As we paw amongst the supplies, I hear a shuffling noise from the aisle over. "SHIT." I swear under my breath, forcing Connor to the floor. Beth it in the opposite aisle across from us, and I hiss to her quietly as I keep Carl down. "Beth! BETH! Down!" I try to say quietly, and she looks up to the aisle where the stray walker is wandering. She gasps and hits the floor, ducking low. The guy, who looks like he would have worked here before the world went to shit, grunts low in his chest and scuffles his loafers on the floor. His name tag clip jingles, and from here I can read _hello, my name is __**Martin.**_ He turns after a moment, starting to scuffle back the other way. Just as soon as he gets far enough away, I'll take care of him.

Carl's breath is harsh as I try and calm my breathing so Martin doesn't hear, but my ears snap to attention as I hear a cough. Beth gasps, trying to take in air and cover her mouth at the same time. She clamps her palm over her lips, but her body forces her to cough. Martin starts to turn back around, attracted to the sound like Rick told me, his chin turned towards the sound of Beth's painful-sounding coughing. To my horror, a few other rotters come from around the corner, stumbling and groaning. They may have been in the break room, packed together after months of being trapped in here. Beth tries to shut herself up, but they've already heard us. And smelled us.

I yank Carl to his feet and Beth follows as we run down the aisle, our feet sliding on the tiles like those old movies where they run around the corner, slide, then advance the other way. I can hear the pack of them behind us, and I grab Beth and Carl by their wrists, yanking them into an aisle with debris littering the ground. We maneuver is with more ease than them, and I aim for the back doors. Beth holds her chest as we run, still coughing up a storm, and I pull Carl in zig-zags across the aisle, the groans and hungry yells behind us enough to keep us going.

"This way!" I yell, almost feeling the fingers of rotten walkers on my shoulder as I yank open the back doors to the employee lounge. One of them grabs hold of Beth's blonde hair and she screams as it pulls. "HOLD STILL!" I yell, whacking it in the head with the butt of my gun. It stumbles back and lets go, and we have enough time to run. We sprint down the hallway to the employee exit, our feet clicking on the tile as a few walkers make their way after us. We fling ourselves out the door into the zombie-infested back parking lot, their starving faces deprived of nutrition.

"This way!" Beth screams, pulling me towards a silver Subaru, and we dive in through the doors that are, thank god, unlocked.

"Look for keys!" I scream as they pound at the windows, trying to break through the glass to get to us. Carl, breathing hard, frantically looks under the seat, and I check the glove box as Beth checks the middle compartment. I throw Beth a jingling pair of keys and she shoves them in the ignition. "DRIVE!" I scream at her. She tries to get the car to go, but it won't start.

"It's not starting!" she screams, knowing that, indeed, we are very much trapped.

"Carl, you stay with us, do you hear me? Stay with us, open on three!" I scream over the yells and guttural noises from outside, cocking my gun. "ONE! TWO! THREE!" I shove the door open, shooting the first one I see, and blood splatters the pavement as he falls. I grab Carl by the wrist so I don't lose him, holding him in front of me by the shoulders so he isn't behind me. If anyone gets bit, it will be me, not Carl, or Beth. They are part of my group, and I will protect them. "Go for the woods!" I scream, seeing a smaller herd of zombies coming at us from the road, making the cars out of the question. Beth grabs Carl and I turn around, aiming my gun at the closest one. I shoot it down, the son of a bitch falling on his face "dead" as if it weren't dead already. I turn back around and follow Beth and Carl towards the woods, the WalMart having been nestled where the woods had been cleared out to build it when the world wasn't overrun.

Beth begins wheezing as we run, her cough airy and breathless as I keep my hand on Carl's shoulder and run, ensuring that he does not trip. Beth grabs for my hand, and I grip onto it tightly, not letting go. "I'm not going to let you go." I pant, sweat dripping down the collar of my new brown jacket as my breath freezes in the air, sending pinpricks of icy pain as I breathe in. She nods, sibilating with labored breath and coughing, and Carl and I take her hands, pulling her into the darkness.

They keep coming. Out of nowhere. Carl, Beth, and I fight them off for as long as we can until there are only one or two following us, and we are absolutely exhausted. Especially Beth, because now she is worse, her breathing heavy and abnormal. We pull out onto a road, my new boots hitting pavement, and I shove Beth and Carl forward, screaming and shoving a knife in the skull of the walker advancing towards us. Carl gets the other one, and I shoot the one that is far off. When it seems like there are no more following us, and I've completely run out of energy, I walk for the first time in what seems like hours.

"Carl, ev-ev-everything okay?" I check him over, pulling him close to me. He pants heavily, his skin icy besides his ears which are pink and war, and his neck covered in sweat. He hugs me tightly and I press my chin to his hair, tucking his head under my chin for the hug. I smooth my stubby nails on his back gently for a moment and check to see if Beth is alright.

"You're quivering." I observe, pressing the back of my hand to her cheek. "Oh God, you're warm…" why the fuck is she so warm? I feel Carl again to make sure I'm not just making a mountain out of a molehill. He's sweaty, but not burning hot like he has a pinkened sunburn. I feel my own skin, which naturally feels cold to the touch, but I feel so hot I might just strip right here.

"I'm c-c-cold." She shivers, sticking her hands in her armpits to warm them. She starts to cough again, the rattling sound deep in her chest, and with my hand on her back, I feel a murmuring rasp, a drum in her chest that is her quickened heart rate.

"Take a deep breath." I tell her, and she does, wincing. "You okay?"

"Hurts. Feels like pins and needles in my ribs if I breathe too hard." She shivers and I pull her arm around me, letting her lean.

"We need to find a place for the night."

"We're not going back?" Carl asks with surprise. "What about my mom and dad? What if the rest of the group are hurt?"

"He's right." Beth rasps, trying to unsuccessfully catch her breath. "What about the others? My dad and sister are still there. What if there were more walkers?"

"You know you're not going anywhere like this. Carl…" I really hate to see that look on his face. "We'll just find someplace safe to spend the night, and then we'll find our way back. I don't even know where we are. It's dark. I don't know the trail."

He nods halfheartedly but listens. "Okay." And repositions his hat. "I'll help you." He take Beth's other arm and lets her put it around his shoulders, as she has her other around mine.

"Thanks Carl." She smiles slightly as we make our way down the seemingly deserted road.

It's pure luck that we find the van. It is deserted in the middle of nowhere, on the side of the road. It looks to me like a GM APV, by the slanted hood most of all. I jam the locked door with my knife and silence the car alarm after popping the hood. There are a few decaying bodies inside, but they are human, so Carl and I drag them out as Beth leans huddled in her jacket against the car door.

"I think they'll be fine out here." I tell Carl after he helps me drag them into the woods a ways. He nods, and we get back to the van. There are three rows of seats on the inside, and a few suitcases are loaded into the back like the people who died inside were running. I guess they never got where they were going, but I am thankful for their van. There are a few raggedy blankets in the back that look as if they might have been sitting in the back of the car before the suitcases, and one of the seats was torn out as well. I unlock the doors to the car so we can't lock ourselves in, and take Beth's hand to help her into the vehicle.

"That's it, nice and slow." I grab her as she topples. "Whoa, careful. I got you. Step up. Duck your head. Come on in, Carl, it's fine in here now." Besides the slight smell of death, but it's hardly noticeable. "Here, lie down here." I lower her down to one of the seats and take her bag from her, letting it drop to the floor. "Do you want some water?"

She nods, sweat glistening at her neck. I pull a bottled water out of my bag and unscrew the cap for her, holding my hand out as she sips it, because it looks like she might drop it. Thankfully, she doesn't, and I take it from her shaking hand. I lay my rifle down on the floor of the van and give Carl his own bottle of water. I count four of them. The one I gave Beth, the one I just gave Carl, and the one I take a sip from now, along with the other in my bag.

"We sleep here tonight. Try and go back tomorrow." I stretch out, resting in the front seat as Carl takes the back. "Get some rest."

"Night, Paige." Carl stretches out on the seats, taking his hat off.

"Yeah… night, buddy." I gulp, trying to hold myself together.


	4. Four: While I breathe, I Hope

_**Hola! Here is the next chapter, I hope you like it, and please review! Thanks to all who have stayed with me! ~Lizzy~**_

Four: While I breathe, I Hope

Beth is worse by morning. Her eyelids slowly peel over her yellowed eyes as she wakes, the white an off color. I feel her cheek with the back of my hand, which feels hotter than yesterday. Her chest goes up and down quickly, abnormally, and when I check her pulse I count a hundred and fifteen beats per minute.

"How do you feel?" I ask as I press a cold water bottle to her cheek, trying to cool her down. She opens her mouth to speak, but it comes out a low rasp.

"I'm alright." She starts up a coughing fit again, waking up Carl from his sleep on the back seats of the car. I help her lean forward, and I press my palm flat on her back, feeling her crackling breath. She shakes with chills, and her skin pertains a pale color.

"You look horrible." I observe, helping her lie back again on the seat. "Will you drink some water for me?"

"Mmm… I'm not really thirsty."

"Please?" She agrees, but only can keep down a few sips without coughing. "You're so hot."

"I feel so cold." Her hands shake like miniature earthquakes, her eyes squinting shut as she tries to get enough air. "Ow, OW!"

"What, what is it?"

She squints her eyes shut. "It hurts to take a deep breath, _oww." _

"Here, take it easy." I gently rub my stub nails on her back as Carl kneels on the floor, his eyebrows furrowing between his bright blue eyes.

"Is she okay?"

"Yeah, she's fine." I retort quietly, helping her lay back again. "Do me a favor, Carl, why don't you go sit on the hood and keep watch." I click my gun onto safety and hand it to him. "I'll take care of Beth."

He retrieves the gun from my hand and is considerate to shut the car door quietly as he gets out of the car, and he hops up onto the hood.

I spend the entire morning trying to get Beth to drink water, eat a little food. Unfortunately, it seems like it is a task just for her to stay awake, but her coughing doesn't permit much sleep. Every time she coughs, I think she is going to choke, and I make her sit up. It's horrible to watch. I've never taken care of someone so sick before. I've had to keep an eye on my sick brother before, but he would just sit on the couch and watch TV, color, or sleep. I can tell right away that this is different than your average fever and cough. First of all, the whole damn car shakes whenever she hacks, and after a few hours of normal coughing, she begins coughing up bloody mucus that looks like currant jam. It scares me, but I try to keep a straight face and tough it out for her. She's in a lot of pain, and I'm the only one to take care of her.

Her breath is raspy, and I can just tell it isn't right. And I know it's not asthma, because it is accompanied by the fever, chills, sore throat, mucus. And then the vomiting. She coughs so hard, she starts to vomit everything up. And it's bloody.

"Shhh, it's alright, it's gonna be alright." I hug her, letting her rest her chin to my shoulder. "Take little breaths, and your ribs won't hurt as bad… shhh."

"I – ahh-haa!" she cries out pitifully, grabbing her chest. "Oh, Paige, OH! OW!" she looks so helpless. I take her head against my shoulder.

"Easy Beth, easy… shhh, it's alright, it's okay. Just breathe, breathe, shhh, shhhhh." She closes her eyes and moans herself to sleep.

While she sleeps, I rub her back, trying to soothe her in her restlessness. In her slumber, she talks about someone named Jimmy, and occasionally she giggles or twitches like she is being tickled by a feather. "Jimmy, I think we should… mm…" she mumbles, going in and out of nonsense talk like she is delirious even in her dreams. "Maybe we could go…" she coughs in her sleep and turns into my side.

I hate to admit that I am scared for her. I have never been scared for someone like this. Being gutted by the rotties in the moment is one thing, but dying slowly of – this, this is unorthodox. I feel her pulse every now and then, and when I'm sure it is safe to leave her, I quietly close the door of the van and sit next to Carl on the hood.

"How is she?" he asks without looking at me, staring off into the foggy distance. Night is falling again. I think we both accepted the fact earlier in the day that we wouldn't be setting off again today to locate the others.

"Not too good… asleep now, though." I say half-heartedly, wiping my hand down my face. "Hungry? Thirsty?" I offer him a bottle of water and he gratefully drinks off of it, handing it back to me after his thirst is quenched.

"She's going to be okay." He decides, laying my gun between us. "Right…"

"Yeah." I put my hand over his gently. "She's going to be fine."

He looks down at our hands. "Even if this happened, I'm glad I got lost with you."

I take him against my side, laying his hat in my lap and stroking his hair, rubbing my fingertips on his back. "Well, I'm not glad you're here. But I'm glad you're safe. You were very brave."

"You think?"

"I know. You were very valiant to protect us like that. Your dad would be real proud, Carl. He will be when we tell him, yeah?"

He smiles against my shoulder, then frowns. "You know, she wanted to kill herself."

"What?" I stare down at him.

"Beth… she wanted to kill herself. She tried to."

I stare down at him for a moment then search for my words. "W-when?"

"When we were staying at their farm… Hershel… he kept the walkers in the barn because they were his family, friends, neighbors… all people he knew. He didn't see them like we do, like they're already dead. He saw them as people." He looks up, lifting his forehead from my shoulder. "When the… walkers got out of the barn… they were all killed. And her mother and brother were two of them. She was in this… shock. I'd never seen anything so scary, Paige. I didn't know that could happen to people… she just stared and stared and stared, like she was looking at nothing. And then when she woke up, she wanted it all to end. She wanted to end her life."

I sit there speechless for a moment.

"Paige, open this fucking door! Open it now, damn it! You don't want to do this!"

I sob under the sink, holding tightly to my wrist as I wait for it to bleed out. Blood stains my clothes, gets all over the bathroom of this abandoned house. "Petey? I need help." I sob, and he jams a screwdriver into the lock.

"Paige?"

I look down at him. "That's scary."

"She cut her wrist. With a piece of glass. Then she decided she wanted to live."

"What a turn-around." I say, looking back through the windshield to check on her. Her back goes up and down quickly with breath. "We need to get her back, to Hershel."

"Think they're still in there? Or looking for us…"

"Probably looking for us." I smile, ruffling his hair. "How 'bout you come back in the van, it's cold out here."

He nods and lets me lead him inside. We're extra quiet, as Beth is finally sleeping without being disturbed by reckless coughing. I kneel beside her and gently stroke her stringy, unwashed hair out of her face like a mother would to her sick child, even though I am in no way a mother. Carl sits cross-legged beside me, slowly putting his hand over Beth's, gently smoothing down her arm. "Get better, Beth." He says softly, his lips pursing together. She fails to stir in her sleep, and continues to shiver with severe chills.

I sit with her through the night. I don't think Carl sleeps much either, because when Beth wakes choking his eyes flash open. We're running severely low on water, and our food supply is a box of crackers I took from the grocery store and put in my bag. Beth, of course, doesn't eat, and it scares me when she adopts decreased thirst as one of her symptoms. There is also an abated level of consciousness. She is out longer than she is in, and she ceases mumbling in her sleep and sleeps so silent that I could mistake her for a corpse. A few times, I desperately lay my ear to her chest to make sure she still breathes. A few times I am sure she stops breathing. I've finally had enough.

"She needs help, and I'm not sitting here waiting for her to waste away. I don't know what the hell is wrong with her, but it ain't good. She needs a doctor, and I mean now."

"Where will we go?" Carl stands, bending over to stand upright in the van. "What if they're looking for us? They could be close to finding us."

"Yeah, they _could._ But she needs – I don't know, something. I don't know." I bury my face in my hands. "I – I don't know what to do." For once I really don't. A life of elaborate plans and prints, I have always seemed to know exactly what to do. I was always the one with the crazy plan that always worked. Now, I have nothing. Carl puts his arm around me.

"Paige… Beth needs you. She needs us. If we left, she'd be alone. And no one can go alone, it's too dangerous. There are more walkers out there, and we can't risk it."

Damn, how does he come up with such adult decisions? I wrap him in a hug. "You're right, you're right, Carl. You smart, smart boy." I ruffle his hair. "I promised to keep you safe. You're the one keeping _me_ safe."

He smiles with just his lips as he often does. "Hey, I'm the only man here."

I smile and pat his head. "I'm going to go look down the road a ways… I promise, you'll be able to see me. I'm just going to see if I can see how far the road goes before it hits a town. You stay here, take care of Beth. Here." I dig into my pocket and toss him the bottle of pain meds. "If she wakes up, give her two of those, and make her drink water. Okay?"

"I'll take care of it." He nods, shaking the bottle close to his ear as I step out of the van, slinging the gun on my shoulder.

"I'll be back." I say as I close the door quietly, hiking down the road and into the dark. I know Carl will be alright for a moment. When I am a suitable distance away, I fall to my knees, burying my head in my hands. Sobs escape my mouth, my lips quivering and tears leaving streaks in the dirt on my cheeks. I can't feel my fingertips in the cold, and the tip of my nose is numb, but I don't care. I let my nose run, tears fall, arching my back down towards the abandoned road. "God…" I say between sobs. "What the hell… why does this have to happen to me." I hit myself in the side of the head. "Wake up! You're at home! Wake up! YOU'RE AT HOME! DAMN IT!"

I cry harder, beating my fist on the pavement. I've spent my life becoming invisible, and now when someone needs me most, I want to disappear even more than ever. "I don't ask for much. In fact, I've never asked you for anything. And for you to fuck me in the face, that's not okay! No! I never asked you for a _thing! _And now I ask you for this one thing, and you shit in my face!" I sniff, a long, drawn-out snuffle, and wipe my nose with the back of my hand. "What, is a walker going to lollop out of the darkness and eat me? Is that how you treat people? I know, Beth tried to hurt herself. Carl told me about all of it. She broke one of your big rules, not to commit suicide… she corrected herself! And then you shit on her! How long before she can't breathe? They trusted me! They trusted me, and she's not okay, and that's on me!"

I yank my rifle off my back by the strap, tossing it out in front of me with anguish. "There, you can have that. All you do is take from people. When have you ever given anything? You're always taking people. Look at all the people you've taken! And they walk around the earth as your bloody reminders. And I don't know how I feel about you, but I know Beth has faith in you. And if that's enough, I don't know. But if you really do care about the human race – or what is left of it… you'll give me a damn miracle that will help us, because we're stuck with one sick person, a thirteen-year-old, and me. And I'm at the end of my rope here. That's fine if you don't wanna help me. But don't expect me to owe you anything."

I grab my gun up and clutch it furiously, spitting on the ground before I get up. I turn my back to the dark and walk back to the van.

"Her heart rate is one forty." Carl says as I time on my watch with the cracked lens.

"We're low on water." I say softly, only in a croaked whisper. "All three of us are dehydrated."

"We have a little water. I'll get it."

"I'll get it." I stand up, but as I try to take a step, stumble into the side of the van, feeling rather dizzy. My head spins, and Carl catches me. "It's okay, I'm fine."

"You need water. Here, drink this." Carl says, handing me the water that's left. "How much have you had."

I don't have an answer as I slowly drink the water, my head between my knees. "I think I'm fine now. Have you felt dizzy at all today?"

"A little… when I went out to the woods to go to the bathroom, I felt – I donno. Like I couldn't walk in a straight line."

I feel his forehead, but he doesn't feel warm. My guess is that it's dehydration. "Carl, we really can't stay here."

He rubs his thumb and forefinger together. "Where do we go?"

"I don't have a _damn_ clue." I sigh, pushing my hat off my forehead to rub it where it hurts. There is a hollow, dizzy-like feeling in my head. Like something there is missing, or a reality deficiency. "But Beth can't be here. it's safe for now, but – she needs real medical attention. We can keep giving her the light pain meds and fever reducers, but that ain't gonna cut it for long now. She needs an inhaler, a respirator or something. Some type of medicine that we don't have…"

"I know." He says matter-of-factly.

"I think the only choice we have is for one of us to go out and look for help."

"I'll go."

I actually laugh at that. "No you won't."

"Why not?"

"Carl, I'm in charge of you, and your mom and dad trusts me with you. I don't think I'm going to let you go off on your own looking for them. You need to take care of Beth while I'm gone. She won't wake up a lot, probably. If she does, don't worry her. She doesn't need more stress. Check her pulse every half an hour, like I taught you, and if she starts to cough, she has to sit up. Do you hear me?"

He suddenly hugs me. "Be careful."

I rub my hand on the back of his head. "Of course I will be… of course. You stay in here." I slide his Epic towards him. "If rot-heads come, you know how to defend yourself. If there are too many, you hide in here and get yourself and Beth under the seats. I'll be back soon, hopefully with help."

He hugs me again once more before I set off, my light pack on my back and my gun slung over my shoulder. I look back once to see him watching me out the windshield. With each step I take, I think of Carl, and Beth, and the others that I must find. I imagine what I will say when I find them, memorizing the location of the APV and thinking about retracing my steps over and over. I take mental photographs of things to remember, think of things that make a difference such as _on the right side of the rock-hill, _or _the moss on the tree I made a left at is shaped like Abraham Lincoln._ Every twig that snaps, I aim my gun at it, only to see nothing.

It feels like I walk for weeks, though in retrospect, it's only hours. I sweat in my brown coat that is already getting dirty, and my hair falls in messy clumps in my face as I trudge along at the same speed, never ceasing, only to rest.

I hear a crackle up in the trees, and I point my gun, resting it on my shoulder. Another snap, this time on the ground. I back up slowly, trying to be quiet. I scream slightly and jump when I bump into something warm and solid, whipping around to point my gun. Daryl clamps a hand over my mouth.

"Bitch, don't you scream like that again and you'll attract every walker round here within a mile!" he hisses under his breath, his breath smelling of coffee, for some reason. I push him back after biting his hand lightly. I wouldn't think about breaking the skin, his hands are covered in dirt.

"What the hell are you _doing_ out here?" I murmur, less surprised to see him and more angry that he startled me so badly.

"Looking for your dumb ass! I see I found it, but where are Beth and Carl?" he lowers his crossbow, contemplating on whether he thinks I might somehow try to jump the only man I've seen in days. As if he couldn't take me on. It wouldn't be a horrible fight.

"Miles back." I say between panting so heavily I have to throw myself, or rather fall against a tree to hold myself up. I feel sweat on my chest, behind my ears, and down the back of my shirt like a drip IV, and my throat feels so dry. I think I even feel a little bit light headed.

"Whoa, whoa." He catches me as I fall onto my knees, wheezing from running. I'm barely even able to talk through my labored breaths, and when I look up, I see two Daryls that appear to be spinning like a kaleidoscope. Everything blurs around the edges like fog, and I feel a ringing in my ears, like it is in the back of my head. When I finally can see without wobbling, Daryl puts his palm under my chin and looks into my eyes.

"Damn eyes are glassy, when's the last time you drank?"

"I think it was…" my memory escapes me. Seems like just yesterday I had a drink. "I had the last of it a while before I left. Which was…" I struggle to stare down at my watch. "'Bout half a day ago."

"Shit, drink this." He hands me a tattered water bottle that has the seam of a crack forming in it, and I try taking it, but I can't tell which one to because I am still seeing two of them. He ends up pressing it to my lips as I reach aimlessly, dumping half of it into my mouth. I gulp it down, even if it tastes a little too much like minerals and he probably got it from a stream or something, but it is still cold and feels good on my dry throat.

He crouches on a log with the soles of his shoes pressed to the rough bark as he watches to make sure I drink. "Where are Beth and Carl? Weren't they with you?"

I slowly look up, feeling slightly better, in the physical sense; still trying to catch my breath as if it has somehow ran away from me for good. "They-they're about…" I pant heavily. "I don't know how far I came, it seems like for days… but maybe six or seven miles or so."

"Damn, we really do need to get you a cookie and some juice, then." He offers me a grimy hand and helps me up. "Come on, we're set up about a mile or two from here. We've been searching for you for damn near two pissin' days," he slings his crossbow onto his back and pulls me to my shaky feet. I duck when he holds out his hand, but he pffts. "Hold still, I gotta see if you're burnin' up." He presses his palm to my forehead. "I left my bike at the road, this way."

"Bike?" I gulp. That's right – I may have survived my entire family trying to pull out my innards and floss their teeth with my small intestine, and I very well have lived on my own for months, but I have always been afraid of motorcycles. Maybe I was traumatized as a kid, I don't know. But I'm just absolutely, positively afraid of them. The dumbest thing. And especially since Daryl is going to be driving.

"Yeah, what'd you think? I was gonna give you a piggy-back?" he grabs my wrist and pulls me through the low hanging brush, his breath freezing in the air. I let him, still trying to catch my breath and stumbling. His _Hardtail_ is sitting at the side of the road, looking even more scarier in person. It has the kind of handles that are up high and make you look like a gorilla when you're holding them way up there, and a low seat. It's wheel is also way out in front like a trike, but this isn't any trike. He climbs on and kicks it to life as I stand there, panting and dumb.

"Well, what're you waiting for, ain't got all day." He rolls his eyes. I slowly climb on the back, still shaking though it feels like a thousand degrees in my coat. He turns around.

"You scared of some pussy-ass little bike?"

I don't say anything, but he fixes the collar of my coat so it is farther up around my neck. Surprising, I didn't know he cared. "Keep that pulled up, it'll get cold." Then he turns back and takes the handlebars, kicking off from the ground. "Hold on tight, then."

I listen, wrapping my arms tightly around his torso as we speed through the crisp air, the sound of the chopper blocking all audibility; if he were to talk to me, I wouldn't be able to hear him. He is right, it does get cold, but I keep my arms around his torso, which is warm, and he smells slightly of firewood and cigarette smoke. Still feeling exhausted, I lay my cheek to his back, feeling him _hmph, _but not objecting.

The camp is set up a few miles away, as much as I can tell. When we reach it, my cheeks are red and numb, my fingers clenched together around Daryl's torso. My hands have a tingling feeling for being in this position for so long. They feel like miniature fireworks as I am ripped off the back of the cycle as Carol hugs me close to her for a long time. I feel slight sobs in her chest as she hugs me, and I even hug her back a little. As much as I don't like to admit it, now it seems hard to go off on my own. I miss the people like Carol.

"Paige," Rick checks to make sure that I'm alright. "Are you hurt? Where are the others? Did you get lost?"

I pant out the story. "Rotties, in the store. I had Carl and Beth with me, and we thought there was only one, a worker that probably hadn't left the store since he died. There was an entire herd of them in there or something, came out of nowhere. They might have been tucked away in the employee lounge or something, I have no idea, but – "

"Where's Carl?" Lori says, a slight waver in her voice.

"And Beth?" Maggie says, tossing a long blanket on my shoulders as Hershel makes his way over to us. I huddle in it gratefully, puffing my breath in the cold. Maggie takes Hershel's arm gently, looking up at him. They can't bear to hear that something happened to her. Lori looks terrified as well.

"They're on the side of the road. In a van, not ten miles from here. Carl is fine, but Beth – something happened. I don't know, maybe she got scratched, bit…" I have no idea what happens when someone is bit, how they change. I know that they get sick, I have heard that. But how the sickness is, I have yet to find a clue.

"Oh my God." Maggie starts to basically hyperventilate, and Glenn takes her in his arms.

"We're going to get them." I say. "Get me into a damn car _now,_ we need to go get them. South Carolina isn't far now, and we need to find Bamberg. My friend, the other that was with me said we needed to find Bamberg South Carolina, and there would be a way to find his cousin." I suddenly blurt.

"Wait, why didn't you tell us where exactly before?" Glenn asks, a confused look across his slender face.

I fidget with the hem of my coat. "I wanted to… make sure I could trust you."

"Vice versa." Daryl rolls his eyes. "If we're going to locate them, standing around here talking about who trusts who ain't gonna help, so let's get on with it." Daryl points at me, then Glenn. "Save this for later, for now, Beth and Carl."

I help the others speed take down the camp, the few tents that had been set up, and a few tarps, tossing them carelessly in the back of the Dodge Ram as the rest of them do as well. It is a little confusing to direct Glenn in the right direction, as I'd gone as the crow flies through the woods, but after nearly giving up and turning to hopelessness, I see the tiny dot of the van past the hill.

"Is she hurt? Please tell me she isn't hurt." Maggie says hoarsely, putting her hands on the sides of her head, slightly rocking.

"I don't know. Just shut up so I can concentrate." I growl, locking my hand around the handle of the door so I can jump out as soon as we come to a stop.

The few cars ahead of us make it to the van first before we make it to the bottom of the hill. I jump out of the car as Carl runs into Lori's arms, his hat falling over his eyes.

"Carl!" Lori cries, enveloping him in her arms.

"I'm okay, mom. I'm okay." Carl pushes Lori's hair back and hugs her, showing her that he's intact. After their family is reunited I climb into the van along with Hershel and Maggie. Glenn and Carol wait on the outside, their hands in the pockets of new coats they must have swiped from the store. Not very heavy ones because the so-called apocalypse happened around the beginning of summertime, as I can remember it, just as school was getting out, and there weren't many warmer clothes, but they are better than nothing all the same.

"Beth? Beth, wake up." I shake her softly, and she moans, opening her discolored eyes, struggling to lift her head. She looks around as if everything is shaking for her, and I lift her head up gently with my hand. "It's okay, look who's here."

Hershel takes her in his arms and hugs her gently. "Sweet, sweet daughter." He says softly, stroking her hair. Maggie envelopes her as well, rocking her sister. She goes into a coughing fit, and Hershel gently holds her head up to help her stop the coughing.

"Daddy?" she croaks softly. I notice that her skin has taken in a light bluish tint, and not the kind from the cold. Her mouth opens quickly to let in air, trying to catch her breath, and she reaches for her sister Maggie. "I –" she coughs, trying to lift her arm to cover her mouth. Maggie rubs her shoulders gently with her nails that have dirt under then, patting her back as she coughs. They all look so incredibly worried, and I don't blame them. I was dying with worry, and they are her only family.

"We need to get somewhere with medication. Diagnostic tools." Hershel says, lifting her out of the seat where she has been for the past two days, ceasing most movement.

"The hell, you don't know what's wrong with her? I thought you were a doctor!"

Maggie pulls me out of the van and out of the way so Hershel can carry her out. "He's not a doctor, he's a veterinarian."

"Oh." I say. "We need to get to Bamberg now. Today. We need to find this place."

Maggie's lip trembles. "How long do you think she has?"

"As long as she can hold on." Rick says, already climbing back into the car. "Let's go, wasting daylight. We need to move if we're going to get her to the Carolinas."

This seems like the longest ride of my life. We lay Beth across my lap and Maggie's in the back seat. She is quite delirious and cries out in her state of unconsciousness. Her delirium is the thing that scares me the most. One moment she will mumble and curl up on herself, then become very silent and very still. I watch her pulse beat in her neck like a beacon, that tiny beacon of hope that we'll get there soon if it just keeps beating. Maggie rubs her back gently, comforting her cries and moans of pain as she takes too deep of breaths.

"It's alright, it's gonna be alright." Maggie keeps comforting her sister when she is out of the delirious state, or even still in it. "You're gonna be fine."

When she comes out of her aberrant state, she will start to choke on the mucus in her throat again, coughing up the jelly-looking substance, and a few times, I doubt she will stop breathing she is hacking so hard, but she makes it through each time. But the next time I fear that she won't.

"Almost there." I whisper to her at one point. She continues to shiver, tremoring like she can't retain her heat. But she must be at least a hundred and five degrees. We stop for nothing, though our fuel level gets low. There is nowhere to cypher gas now, and I just pray that we can coast in on exhaust fumes if need be. We follow the road signs and a map that Lori spreads out in her lap and reads to Rick as he drives. The other car that Carol drives rumbles along behind us as the sky dims.

We coast into the town, finally. The sign reads _Bamberg welcomes you,_ but seems rather eerie and deserted as we roll in. a few stray walkers wander in the street, occasionally looking up to as much as notice us as we go by. There are old newspapers, trash, cans in the road, along with a few sand bags that were set up in front of shop doors, maybe to keep them from coming in. No one comes out of the unlit shops, though, nothing more than I expected. It isn't until we get out of the town-part that the signs start to appear.

_Go this way._ One of them says in faded red spray painted stencil letters. _Refuge in ten miles._

"Follow them." I say, remembering what Petey told me to do. Follow the signs until you see a private road and the estate is nestled near the Blue Ridge Mountains. I once had specific directions, but when I was alone once, I was forced into the water with clothes on and all when running from a few rotties. I remember what Petey said, I just hope he was right.

_Turn up ahead._ The last sign says though almost too faded to read, slightly dripped paint as if it has rained many times since it was put up. I give Maggie a hopefully look as she continues to speak to her sister softly as her chest rises quickly with the rapid breath, the pulse beating out of her neck.

"We made it." I whisper, continuing to gently smooth over Beth's hairline. She barely moves, limp and breathing so quickly it is like a baby's heartbeat in the womb.

There is one more ragged sign that says _turn, stop at gates,_ and we pull down the long dirt drive that is really the size of its own dirt road, and dust rises as Glenn technically floors it. It is time to face that we are desperate. It is pretty safe to say that Carl and I haven't eaten in days, and not only because of the whole living-in-the-van situation. We definitely haven't had enough to drink, and our food supply is low. I believe that we have gotten used to eating and drinking small amounts.

There is a metal gate where the road cuts off and turns into a larger estate path, and the fence turns to wood. The other cars stop behind us with the sounds of horrible breaks and suspension, and Glenn looks at me as if to say "now what?"

"I'm getting out." I say as I shift Beth out of my arms and into her sister's, opening the door. I lean on the fence, peering into the dim light and feeling the cool air on my skin for the first time since the car ride. It isn't very cold here in the Carolinas. Now that night is nearing, it feels about fifty or forty degrees, and it is probably warmer during the day. I yell out to a light in the distance that looks like a beacon lantern but is so far away. "Hello!" I call, my voice hoarse. "HELLO!"

Hershel joins Maggie in my previous car and they both takes care of Beth as she continues to hold on. I can hear the coughs from here as she struggles to gasp in enough breath. Maggie touches Hershel's arm gently as she cries.

"Someone!" Rick yells. "Please!" There is not one sound or movement and Rick continues to yell. "We followed your signs, we need your help!"

There is yet again no answer, and I feel a deep pain in the pit of my stomach. If I am wrong, or rather Petey was wrong, Beth is going to die out here, and we might wither away along with her. If there are no longer people here – we are totally fucking screwed beyond screwed and it is all my fault. This is out last hope.

"Please, let us in, let us in!" I scream, feeling a lump in the back of my throat. This is all my fault. This is all my fault, and now these people are going to die. The lump in my throat suddenly dissolves and my world comes crashing down as I fall against the gate. This can't be it. If it is, then what was ever the point of surviving? What was the point of slaying my own family, fleeing Tennessee and jumping into Petey's car, making it all the way here for nothing? What was the point of me dragging Carl away from the rot-heads if we are all just going to die? What was ever the point of will Beth to live? What was the point of me ever becoming friends with her in the first place?

"Please, we're dying!" I sob, barely audible. No one ever hears me, but suddenly, there is a slight rumbling sound in the distance. I uncover my eyes, pushing my hat up off my forehead and see a pair of headlights heading down the dirt path. The tires utter deep crushing sounds as they roll down the drive, and I jump up to my feet. A man screeches the car, which I can see in the dimming light of the twilight is a blue sedan that looks rickety but like it gets good use, to a stop, jumping out.

"Holy shit!" he exclaims, running his hair backwards through his black hair that looks like it hasn't been cut in a while. "I – I haven't seen people around in – months!"

"Please, let us in!" Rick exclaims as Carol takes me in her arms, trying to calm my crying. She sooths me with a hand on my back and her soft motherly rocking. This is one of my weakest moments, which there have been a few of, but I just feel like I can't even do one thing for myself, which is stopping my child-like blubbering. "We have a girl, she's sick."

"Bitten?" the man narrows his eyebrows and slightly backs away. "Is she bitten? If she is, I can't let you in."

"No." I break free of Carol again and walk up to the fence. "Something else, she's sick. She can't breathe," I suddenly grab him by the shirt collar, half pulling him over the top bar of the fence so my face is close to his. "You let us in, now! You have someone who can help us? DO YOU!"

He looks slightly frightened and intimidated by me, and he opens the gate, then heads back to the car he came in. "Follow my car."

We do just that. It isn't until we are up and over a large hill on the private road that I see the estate. It is large and intimidating; a house that looks about three stories tall and has a few vehicles parked outside. It is complected in black and white rutters and enforced concrete. There are a few other dim structures that I can barely see, and the porch lights are on to the house.

We pour out of the cars as a very tall man that looks like he has to duck in the doorway runs off the porch like he has been waiting at the window. He has a slight scruff on his face, and he looks about maybe thirty or forty years old, and his face is chiseled with a long chin that is shaped like a square. A woman comes running after him, her small shoes clicking on the paved path to the door.

"Where's the girl?" he says immediately, which confuses me because the only person that could have known would be the guy who got the gate. I quickly observe a radio communicator on his shoulder, like the ones I've seen cops use, and the other man has one as well. It figure, I can tell as much that the property is huge and the ability to communicate is a major asset. No wonder, these people are preppers; they must have thought of everything.

"Here." Rick leads him to the car where Maggie and Hershel cradle Beth and Daryl keeps close watch.

"Is she bitten? I said, is she bitten!" the tall man yells, and I notice has a slight but noticeable Australian accent.

"No!" Rick yells back, and the man reaches for Beth to take her in his arms.

"I'll get her." Daryl growls, stepping in front of him just in the way so he can't touch her. He scoops her body up in his arms as she barely stirs, looking dead. The tall man speaks as Daryl carries her, following the woman into the house.

"Name's Dr. Chester Auwley. People call me Devil." He says as he swings the large door open, guiding us into a room with brilliant bright lights and white walls. It looks almost like a hospital room, and I suddenly realize that it is, in a sense. This house doesn't really look like a house on the inside. This room seems to be some sort of infirmary, or an operating room. I have never met a prepper before, but Petey had told me how crazy they thought they were, and how wrong he knew that they were to think that when the world went to shit. "I'm gonna take good care of her."

"What's wrong with her?" I demand. I've been waiting to know for so long.

"Hard telling now, miss. What happened? Has she been coughing, wheezing, choking?"

"Yes. Coughing up this – mucus and stuff."

"Her skin's blue." The man who opened the gate observes as Daryl lays her down on a small bed with nothing but sheets.

"Right, Tidan, get me my stethoscope." Dr. Devil says, and Tidan, who happens to be the black-haired one, retrieves it for him. He presses it to her chest and sides, gently applying pressure. "Alexa, write this down for me." he calls for the woman who followed him outside before, who can't be more than twenty or so years old clicks a pen as he says. "Dyspnea, agonal respiration," he opens her mouth and shines a light inside. "Mucus buildup and possible breathing obstruction,"

"So, what's wrong?" Maggie demands again, and Glenn holds her tightly. "She's my sister, can you help her?"

"We're going to do everything we can to help her." Dr. Devil says, snapping on a pair of latex gloves. "Her breathing is obstructed severely, and she needs to breathe mechanically. I'll have to insert a tube, which might work."

"Tube, wait, what tube!" I squeak at him, my voice getting higher and higher.

"It's called a tracheostomy. I'll be inserting a tube through the neck directly through the trachea so she doesn't have to use effort to breathe; if she won't do it on her own, we have to force air in and out of her trachea so she can get enough oxygen. It is standard procedure, and won't take me more than five minutes. I've done this many times before." He clears his throat. "She needs this."

None of us object. Beth looks so helpless, so dead right now. She has been out in the wilderness and burning up with a high fever that put her out cold into a state of unconsciousness for this long, it makes me wonder if she will die right here on the operating table. Maggie gulps. "Will she feel it?"

"In this state, probably not. She'll feel it when she wakes up, but I need to do it now. Tidan, scalpel, and Alexa, gauze and a light." Tidan hands him a wrapped tool, and the woman, Alexa, clips a light to the bar on the table that shines into Beth's face. "I need two people to hold her arms down. Sometimes when you cut the skin, it wakes reflexes." Hershel takes one of her arms, silently pressing his fingers into hers, but Maggie hangs back.

"I – I can't watch her get cut open like that, I – "

I gently take Beth's arm that has taken on a slight bluish pigment. Especially around her lips and ears have turned blue. "I'll do it."

"Okay, everybody," says Dr. Devil in a loud and clear voice. "Tidan, I need some saline bags pronto, let's get an IV going. Hold her hand, this might burn her." He says as Tidan hands him the clear fluid bag and he pokes the needle into her hand on the side that Hershel is on. She lies motionless and unresponsive as he sets the IV tube in her papery skin, then places tubes in her nose and around her head. "Alexa, iodine wipes."

She hands him an open packet, and he wipes Beth's pale neck until it is a stained brown color, then washes it off. I suddenly feel light-headed and dizzy as Devil unwraps the scalpel that is stainless steel and has a light green handle to match hospital attire. I've shot many rotties, and seen much gore in my day, in this world, but something about human gore just always made me a little queasy. In my health class, I couldn't even watch the baby birth video when I was in high school.

"Okay, everyone get a side, saline bag on the bed. Lift on my count, one, two, three." He says, and he, Tidan, Alexa, and Hershel lift her to a shiny steel-looking rolling table. Alexa transfers the light over, and we hold down her arms again. "What did you say her name was?"

"Beth." Maggie says between sobs, and Lori and Carol hold her. Devil nods.

"Beth, okay. We're going to be right here with you, Beth." He says though she is unresponsive. "This saline will keep her in la-la land if she is to wake up, but I can't risk it with anesthetics, there is no time. It's okay, this has been done with conscious patients before. Musta done this in Nam a thousand times." He places a piece of gauze on her neck, making the skin taught by pulling. "You have the tube ready?"

"Yup." Tidan says, snapping on a pair of identical latex gloves to Devil's and holds up a tube and another device I can barely see because my vision is shaking so badly.

"You the daddy?" Devil says to Hershel, who nods. "Hold onto your little girl."

Another girl is suddenly in the doorway, a calm expression on her face. Her hair is a soft sunny yellow color, much yellower than my blonde hair which is straight and light blonde, and hips that are about three times wider than mine though she is average in weight. She takes Lori by the arm and directs her towards the door. "How about I go get you all something to drink? Come with me, this way."

"I'm staying." Maggie decides, though she is squeamish with the idea of her sister getting cut open without being actually knocked out, though she is pretty much out anyway. Glenn takes her waist; he is not leaving either.

"Alright, but if you get squeamish, you might'nt wanna watch." Dr. Devil adds.

The scalpel cuts a clean line vertically down her neck as I watch; I don't want to, but it is like watching a car wreck. You can't help not watching. Alexa holds her head straight as Tidan stands on deck with the supplies and other instruments. Devil continues to cut through the skin, and I suddenly wish I am not watching. It feels like every time he makes a cut I feel a lurch in my stomach that I am going to vomit, but Beth needs me, so I keep it down. He finally cuts through the layer of skin, and I remember enough form my anatomy class that the next to come is the layer before the trachea, and then the trachea. He cuts an incision in the tracheal region, and uses a suction to suck out access blood and the secretions in the airway. I have to try extra hard to choke back my vomit this time, but Hershel gently lays his hand on top of mine and I stay with it.

Devil places something over the tube that I can only describe as looking like a big pacifier shell, and takes the tube from Tidan, fishing it down her throat. There is a slight hissing sound, and I realize that it is Beth's breath as she inhales directly through the neck now, and Devil puts a collar around the "pacifier" collar that keeps the tube in place. I choke a little again at the image of a tube protruding from someone's neck, and her breath still sounds horrible; broken and labored. Devil gives her lungs another listen. He makes a grimacing face.

"Euuhh… I think I might know what this is."

"Pneumonia?" Alexa suggests. Her little voice sounds like belles and as if it belongs in a Broadway show musical. She is quite beautiful. There are slight crinkles around her eyes though she looks very young, and has long red hair cut off in a perfect line to her shoulders.

"Just what I was thinking. Viral pneumonia. I know because there was sputum in her throat. Did you give her any medicines?"

"Uh, yeah." I say, leaning into Hershel as my head spins. "Some fever reducer. Tylenol."

"Figures… her temperature's pretty off the charts. Hopefully those fluids will get that down."

"Will she wake up?" Hershel says. "Sir, I am a veterinarian. I've done tracheostomies on animals during surgery before, but does this apply to human beings as well? What is her condition?"

"She is not well. Weak, fatigued, I can flat out tell you that right there." He scratches his square chin. "You're lucky you got here now. She probably couldn't have taken it much longer."

"Thank you." Hershel puts his hand on his shoulder gently and looks at the other two that assisted. He stumbles forward slightly, but I catch him, my own vision spinning.

"Whoa, now. Are you alright?" Alexa takes his arm.

"We haven't had much the past few days." I say softly, holding onto Hershel's arm.

"Oh, dear. Come with me, you need water and food, don't you?" Alexa takes my arm. I look back longingly at Beth, who looks like a bluish alien with the tube in her neck. "It's alright. She's in good hands."

"I'm staying with her." Hershel takes his post next to her beside, or rather rolling shiny table-side, and gently reaches out to stroke her face.

"I'll get him something." Alexa promises me, taking my arm to hold my wobbly figure. Maggie kisses her father's head and takes Glenn's hand, following the beautiful red-haired woman leads us to a large kitchen with a long cherry table with dark finish. The rest of my people are sitting at the table, and Carl beckons to me as soon as he sees me standing there.

"I saved you a seat by me." he says. "If you want to sit here."

"Thanks." I pat his hat as I always do and he pulls the chair out for me. There is a large assortment of food set out on the table. Real food. Not freeze-dried food I, or powdered food I expected that doomsday preppers accumulated. Alexa pours me a cold glass of water with perspiration running down the sides and I drink it gratefully. I notice that there are others sitting at the table. A Hispanic-looking man sits at the head of the table, watching as we eat, relishing in our happiness. A few other people are here as well. The yellow-haired woman who led the rest of them out before Devil performed the surgery on Beth. A stringy boy who looks about fourteen with an olive complexion. A plump woman with dark hair pulled up in the back in a bun.

"You must be Paige, then," she older-looking Hispanic says, rubbing his mustache. "My name is Emiliano Pepito Osvaldo Rodriguez. But you can call me Pepe."

Pepe. I remember Petey telling me about him. This is his cousin. "Petey sent me here."

"Oh, mi primo!" he laughs, then his face becomes grave. "Where is little Petey?"

He wasn't so little, I think. "He – he didn't make it. We were… friends." I trail off.

"Let bygones be bygones, we are amigos now. Welcome to _mi_ _domicilio. _We call it _Mientras que Respiro, Espero_. That means _while I breathe, I hope._ Very appropriate for the circumstances, no? And they called me crazy. I muttered at then, someday you will come crawling to me and I will have the last laugh. Petey will be greatly missed, amigo."

We are all silent, and he speaks again. "You are all welcome here. We originally built the estate to house many. I was not an old sour-puss, and I knew that there would be others who needed help. So, I ventured out to put up the signs after the – disease became wide-spread. The last one to wander in was Olive." He looks over to yellow-haired Olive, who sets another plate of food on the table. "So, your home is my home now. As long as you can earn your keep and defend from the carriers." I realize he is referring to the rotties, much like walkers, geeks. Carrier is just another word for them.

"There are showers, if you like." Says Olive, pouring more water for the half-full glasses. I don't blame her for mentioning it. We all probably have a smell of our own, and we don't look too good either. The bunker showers are set up like locker room showers but with the comforts of home. I stand with the warm water rushing over my body for at least an hour, groaning at the feeling of something other than plain soap in my hair. I condition it until it feels soft again and I'm sure every bit of dirt is scrubbed off my skin and I look pale as a ghost in the foggy mirror. Someone has left me a soft navy blue robe on the hook for me, and I gratefully wrap myself in it and comb through my hair with a pink comb that has been set on the sink counter, and then dress in the clean pajamas that someone also left for me. It is a soft gown a little past my knees and I pull on a clean pair of socks before going to visit Beth before bed.

Hershel still stays close to her side, and Maggie gently smooths over her father's shoulders as they listen to Beth's breathing and heart beat on the machine that is newly connected to her. I stand in the doorway for a moment, soaking in their sorrow. When I can no longer take it, I retreat to the block of bunkers that Pepe assigned us to live in for the time being. The beds are comfortable, the blankets a gray and black design, and it feels nice to lay my head on a pillow for once. When I am almost asleep, I feel a knock on the door.

"What?" I sit up, watching as Carl walks into the room. He is dressed in a pair of pajamas as well that are maybe about a size too big for him, falling over his hands and feet, but his hair is washed and combed. I pat the bed for him, and he sits next to me. "I almost didn't recognize you without the hat." I ruffle his damp hair, and he smiles. "Something wrong?"

"If you hadn't have gone… Beth would have died…" he says softly, pursing his lips as he often does. "You saved her."

"Nah…" I pat his knee. "That doctor saved him. We're lucky we got here in time, and that we're here at all."

"I know." He says. "I just wanted to tell you."

"Go to bed." I softly smile and kiss his head. He blushes. "I'll see you in the morning."

"I get my own room." he grins and shuffles out of my small room with his pants falling over his feet. I lay my cheek against the pillow comfortably and sleep comfortably for the first time in weeks.

But by morning, Beth's condition deteriorates.


	5. Five: As I walk through the Valley

_**Okay, so here is the next chapter… Thanks for the reviews!**_

_**Also, for those who care, I have a soundtrack posted on my profile if you would like to enjoy music along with each chapter, and if you have song suggestions, you can pm me. Thanks! ~Liz~**_

Five: As I walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death

The sun rises before me as I sit on the fence that marks the pasture line. A few cows graze in the distance, but not so much that I can see much of them other than their silhouettes. I've been out here since twilight, looking out at the horizon, waiting for whatever I expected to come. Maybe a beacon of some sort. A sign. Some miracle.

It doesn't seem right to have found refuge now. As I stare out at the grazing, drowsy shapes like the images on a cruddy television screen, I don't say a word but my mind is racing.

_"We don't have a large array of medication," Devil says._ _"What Pepe had collected by the time the fever hit is a shelf of antibiotics and sedatives. She doesn't need anti-bodies, she has a virus. Viral pneumonia is much harder to treat that bacterial pneumonia. There is a lot of drainage into her lungs, and the tube only respirates for her. If her lungs fill up, they will not be able to obtain air. The lung sacks are coated, and the virus thrives in this type of environment…"_

_ "You've got to have something…" Rick says as Maggie cries into Hershel's shoulder. He gently comforts his other daughter. Hershel looks a little younger without his slight beard from lack of a razor. Maggie looks a little better cleaned up now, at least physically. "Some suction or something? Can't you – remove the fluid?"_

_ "Sir, I'm a military doctor." Devil says, scratching the back of his head. "Not some magnificent surgeon. I'm sorry, but I can only perform emergency surgeries, the stuff that is enough just to save a life. That's what they taught me in the military… and opening up a chest is definitely out of my league. And we don't have the equipment, we just don't…" he presses his thumb and index fingers to the sides of his forehead. Alexa gently puts her hand on the small of his back. _

_ "You're trying your best, Chester. You're trying your best." She rubs his arm as he sighs deeply, inhaling and exhaling louder than usual. _

_ "I'll help her all I can. That's all I can do."_

_ "We thank you for that." Rick says, nodding once. He looks a lot better too, clean shaven and not covered in grime. _

_ "I'll put her on some pain medication. That might make her at least feel better."_

But she doesn't feel anything. She is still unconscious, in that state of still-alive, but "stuck in equilibrium", as Alexa explained it to me. The state where she is still functioning but her body is doing it simultaneously while her consciousness is zippo.

"She will wake up, right?" I had asked Devil. He replied first with a sigh and then he hastefully said.

"If I take the tube out, probably. She's now taken on dysphagia, which technically means she has lost the swallowing reflex. And her airway is still obstructed. The fluid level around her lungs is dangerously high, and…"

That was when I pushed him away and came out here. The property really is beautiful here. the long, sprawling pastures and orchards, it is an ideal place to barricade one's self from the apocalypse. It must be like it never happened, here in this haven. Though it is only dawn, it feels about fifty or maybe sixty degrees, a warm front compared to what I've been muddling through for the past half a year or so. I bring my knees up to my chest and press my elbows into my ribs, wrapping my arms around my legs and linking my fingers at the kneecaps.

The sun peaks on the horizon as I sit on the wooden fence that is worn and weathered with age, slightly swinging my legs as I listen to the world waking up. Birds chirp their morning songs, calling back and forth to each other, and I hear blue jay's distinctive call from the sky as it flies across the sun's cheeks. _The sun will always rise._ Petey's words ring in my head from one ear to the other. He always would tell me, no matter what the morning brings, along with it also will come the sun. I sigh deeply and push my hair out of my face. It has dried by now, returned to its lightened blonde color. It seems like it was so long since I actually washed myself, the shower felt almost unreal. My skin feels like it has been rubbed raw, scraped off with the edge of a razor, and the hallows in my face and neck where I scrubbed almost sore are slightly red and throbbing, even much after washing.

The fence creaks slightly as the weight of another body leans against the old but sturdy frame. I don't look up, but I can see that it is the black-haired kid, Tidan, out of the corner of my eye. I slowly turn my head to look up at him, after maybe five minutes of not even acknowledging his existence.

"You left this in the bunker locker room." He extends his hand, which beholds my leather and plaid hat. His fingers are slightly pink like he's had his hands stuck in buckets of ice, and his fingernails pinken where he applies pressure on the tweed-like fabric. I reach out and take it from him, folding it in half in my lap.

"Thanks." I say, looking out at the pasture and orchards again. I really hate this kid. Whether he thinks he is charming or helping me, he is wrong, and I hate to be around him. Especially since our first meeting a few days ago was me yanking him half over the fence by his shirt and forcing him to let us in.

"No problem." He runs his red chapped hands through his shaggy sable hair that falls in a triangle on his forehead. "You hungry? Olive, Alexa, and Mya are getting breakfast around." I remember that Mya is the slightly plump one with her stippled black hair pulled back on the nape of her neck. She was the one that showed Carl the "electronic room" as they call it. Apparently, they gain their electricity from a hydraulic source, connected to the property, and when that fails, they own their own propane line. They don't have cable, of course, because it virtually doesn't exist. But they do have rows beyond rows of movies and video games, and Carl has become glued to the room for the past few days. I don't blame him. The kid's been living off of the group drama for his entertainment.

"Not hungry." I shrug, leaning my back on the pillar of the fence. It creaks again with my weight as Tidan inelegantly pulls himself up onto the fence as well.

"You didn't eat breakfast yesterday. Or lunch. Or supper." He lets one leg hang down the fence and rests his chin on the other knee that ineptly points up. He has pretty knobby knees.

"I'm sorry, I think you've mistaken me for someone that wants to listen to your phony concern." I turn so the back of my head is to him. He lets his breath out in a huff and we are silent again for a long time. It is strange how he just lets me brood like this. Any other number of these people here would at least try and talk to me. But he lets me sit here silently and stare off at the light that clicks on instantly in one of the bunker windows. I watch the silhouette of T-Dog climbing out of bed and rubbing his forehead, stalking over to the door; mostly likely to go and take a shower.

"Penny for your thoughts?" he says out of the blue. I find myself leering.

"I wouldn't sell my thoughts to anyone."

"That's a crying shame."

"I guess it is." I lean back now, pressing my palms behind me into the leveled grain of the fence post. "Did they send you out here to check on me? Are you just the messenger boy?"

He smirks, pressing his chin into his prominent collar bone. "I guess so."

"Shit, then, Messenger Boy… you got your ass fallin' out of your ears if you think you're going to talk somethin' abysmal out of me."

"Alright, Country." He smirks again, rubbing the side of his head. He has a trivial scruff growing on his cheeks in patches, along with a shadow from lack of shaving. Black patches are sprouting prematurely like he can't grow an even beard, though he probably has no intention of it. "Tell me what you got."

"I'm a closed book. The end. Now leave me alone." I turn away from him, the breeze blowing my hair across my face. It is soft and glossy, like a Barbie Doll's hair, but it has no particular part in it so it is all over. I usually have it pulled back in a ponytail to concur with my usual hat wearing, but not today.

"You can't just sit out here for hours alone and expect me to just walk away. You don't get to do that."

"Well, you don't even know me, so…" I trail off, biting the side of my cheek with my molars.

"I know enough."

"You think you do." I snivel and run my tongue over the edges of my slightly crooked teeth. "But you don't."

"Okay, let's try a new approach. Either you come in and eat some breakfast, or you can help me clean stables."

I taper my eyes at him until they are tiny slots of brown globes. "Stables?"

"Yeah, Pepe keeps a few animals on the property. So we don't just use up gas, we travel by horse. It's wasteful to leave _Espero _with a car to get more gas, so we go horseback. So, what'll it be."

I huff my breath up, blowing up a piece of my hair and plopping my hat on my head. "Someone get me a shovel."

Tidan leads me to a long stable with tack hung up on the walls and on the dusty shelves with old signs in Spanish that I can't read. I never really learned in my Spanish class like I was supposed to. I pretty much just slid by in the elective classes like that. The only class I really enjoyed was woodshop. Once I made my father a tool shelf, which he'd grunted a drunk "thank you" at and discarded. I at least took a knowledge of tools away from it.

"This is where we keep the horses, and Margarita." He pats the curly gray head of a silver burro that snorts at the pressure of his hand. "Not worth much, but she can carry stuff. This is Benny the Jett." He pats the turned flank of seemingly gigantic black horse, which paws the ground with an intimidating hoof. I'm not afraid of horses. I'm from Tennessee, horses are my thing. He shows me a few of the other horses, such as one they call Mist, a small pony that apparently belongs to Olive named Alfie, and a few turkeys and ducks. Then he proceeds in handing me a pitch fork and leading me to an empty stall.

"Start scooping up this shit into the wheelbarrow." He says, scooping up a load of dung from the partner stall and dumping it in the bed of the wheeled apparatus. "When you want to go inside, just holler."

I grumble under my breath, my hair falling into my face as I shovel, shovel-full after shovel-full into the cruddy bed of the wheelbarrow. My neck starts to feel tight and my glands start to feel bloated, like there is a lump in my throat. My minds is foggy and augmented, enflamed with the thoughts of – whatever, everything. Everything is on my mind. I grab my hair and tug outward, feeling winded as I gasp and hyperventilate and weep. I realize that I am banging the pitchfork against the concrete stall, hot tears streaming down my face as I bawl. I hold it over my head and stab it at the wall, everything blocked out but my rage.

"Whoa, whoa!" Tidan's voice breaks the barrier of my subconscious. "Hold on there, Country, let's take this away from you." He wraps his smutty-gloved hands around the wooden handle and tries to pry it away from me.

"No, NO!" I scream, hollering at him. He looks a little intimidated, but doesn't concede defeat. "Let go! You fucking asshole, let go!" I hate him so much, I feel like I am so full of rage I could shove the pitchfork right through his middle.

He wrests it from my hand with surprising strength, and I fall with my backside against the soiled concrete, pushing my hair up as I gasp for air with my mouth open, trying to let the blubs out. Nothing comes forth but a few unintelligible gasps, and Tidan tosses his dirty gloves away from him, holding my shoulder. I slide to the ground with his hand staying on me as I sink into myself with my hands on the sides of my head.

"Look at me, look at me." he says, his voice distant and indefinite. Everything shaky comes into view as he touches my face. "You're okay."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." I wipe my eye, mopping a dirt smudge under my eye. He pulls his long sleeve over his hand and wipes it for me gently with his clothed wrist. "I'm fine… I'm fine."

"Come on, I'll get you some juice. You want some juice?"

I nod. "Yeah, I'll take some juice." Tidan digs into his pocket.

"Here." handing me a crumpled but unused tissue, he offers me his hand. When I take it, it is covered in callouses and rougher than I expected it to be. He pulls me to my feet and I dust my jacket off. He checks the back of my pants for me to make sure I'm not covered in horse unmentionables, and he fixes my crooked hat. I wipe my nose with the tattered Kleenex and under my eyes.

"Thanks." I mutter as he picks up the pitchfork and lays it across the wall, propped against it. I follow him back into the house where a few people are eating silently at the table. My cracked wristwatch reads 7:30, a few minutes behind the bigger clock in the kitchen. It's actually a nice modernized kitchen with vanity appliances such as a dish washer, microwave, and oven. Olive is already in the kitchen, cooking up a storm again. She has been cooking us more than a normal amount for the three days that we have been here. Her eyes are sympathetic each time she watches us eat. If she was the last one to trickle in here before us, she must know what it is like to see a surplus of food for once in a long time.

"Paige, would you like some eggs?" she smiles softly, sympathetically as usual, holding up a pan of eggs. Carol looks up at me over her white mug of coffee and slightly smiles as well, a pinched beam. Lori is also already sipping a cup of joe, a gray blanket draped around her shoulders, and another one of the residents of _Espero, _a young girl named Vicki who constantly listens to music in her bunk on an old stereo is drumming her nails on the table and picking at a plate of sausage and eggs.

Tidan opens the fridge and gets out a glass pitcher of fresh orange juice, pouring me half a glass. I turn down the eggs and sit at the table as T-Dog walks in still half-drowsy. Instead of chairs, the table is set with long half-log looking benches that are finished off with a glossy stain, and a cushion, and Tidan sits beside me.

"What was that…" he whispers when Mya and Olive start up a conversation to cover it up. "That – little incident, in the stable barn."

"Nothing." I say, setting my glass down on the table as quietly as possible. "None of your business."

"Hey, I think I deserve to know. You can't just have an entire – damn_ episode _and expect me to let it go and forget about it. You can't just say nothing. Do you do that often?"

"My mental status is _none_ of your business." I say a little too loudly, and Carol and Lori both simultaneously look up from their mugs. I slowly scoot away from him and bring my feet up on the cushion, resting my chin on my knees as I sip my orange juice.

Devil walks into the kitchen with Alexa's tiny hand in his. I don't know if they have something going on or what, but they are awfully close. Whatever it is, they are a great medical team. Dr. Devil looks exhausted, like he's gotten no sleep, and his colleague/girlfriend/wife/I don't know looks concerned with his condition of sufficient rest. His square chin grinds as he rubs the scruffle on his face and runs his hand under the water faucet, scooping water up in his palms and washing his face.

"Mya, decaf please." He puts his hand up on the regular coffee she tries to pour him, his sigh in his throat this time. "Tidan, Beth needs a new saline bag."

"I'm on it." He gets up, and though I regret it, I follow him down the hall to the white room. The blinds to the window are half open to let in a little morning light, but other than that, the only lights in the room are from the dimmed machines. Hershel and Maggie still stay at their posts, but Glenn has joined them now. The tube is still as disturbing as ever. Protuberant from her neck, and I can hear her breath grate in the back of her throat like the sound of claws on a chalkboard. I observe that the IV bag looks nearly sucked empty, and Tidan replaces it within minutes.

"How is she?" I whisper hoarsely. His eyes sway over to her, then back to mine, but he brushes past, saying nothing. Staring at her seems to accomplish nothing, so slowly, step by step, I make it to the side of her bed.

Maggie looks up slowly and grabs my wrist, mildly applying pressure with fraught sorrow in her large brown eyes. Hershel's eyes do not train away from his younger daughter's, but he acknowledges me with a slight touch to my fingers. I have been visiting Beth for the past two nights. The routine are as follows.

I walk into the room and touch her cheek gently. I have never felt a kindness for anyone before her. Not this kinship of a friend like this. I only knew her a few days before we raided the store, but we grew close in those days. Her head on my shoulder half the ride here was enough to make me feel a rapport towards her. She is the closest thing I have ever had to a girl-friend. I never had one before. I know, everyone has friends, but I tended to hang out with the nerdy guys, or a small group of cast-offs. i had always wanted that one friends that is a skirt-wearing, nail polish-loving, soft-spoken type of friend that would understand me no matter what I did.

After I touch her cheek, I will softly lean down and speak in her ear so softly so only she can hear. Something along the lines of "I know you can hear me, Beth, so please listen.", and then I will sit down and take her pale blue hand. I will kneel, and bow my head. "Yea, though I walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death, I will fear no evil. For Thou art with me." I don't know why I remember the psalm. I was dragged to church many times by my parents, and I often would sit and block out the sermon out of boredom. But when I was young in Sunday school, I was forced to learn a small book of psalms and prayers and present them to the class. We also were to draw pictures to go along with them, and I distinctly remember spending all of my time drawing the picture for this particular psalm. I drew it out of crayons, and it was a magnificent picture of Him, surrounded by light and with a giant staff. I had drawn myself behind him, holding onto his robe. A rather elaborate picture of a seven year old who was dressed in a fancy Sunday dress and floppy plaid hat that was too big for her head. But it stuck out to me. So I recite it to her.

I will wait for her to respond. When she doesn't, I pick up the necklace off the side table. It is a sterling silver chain, which Devil took off before he performed the tracheostomy. I remember that she's worn it since the first time I saw her, along with her diamond earrings. They seemed so out-of-place in this world, but so is _Espero._ The charm on the chain looks like a diamond heart that lies slightly cockeyed in my hand when I lay it flat. It is beautiful, and once I set it down, I feel her forehead. She is always hot.

Now, I gently tuck her hair back behind her ear and turn to leave. Maggie continues gripping my wrist, and I look down to her. Her face struggles to be strong, though her lip quivers, and I wrap my arms around her back, comforting her. Hershel gently rubs her back as I hug her for a few moments, listening to the machines beeping. He takes Maggie in his arms, away from me, and I leave the subdued room.

After discarding my coat, I lie down in my bed again, curling in a ball to get some much needed sleep. I still smell like the stables, but I don't mind at the moment. I fall asleep with my hat over my eyes, arms folded across my chest, and my legs curled up under me in the fetal position.

I wake up to the sound of arguing. Muffled yelling, but arguing all the same. I slowly rise, not bothering to make my covers back up and slide out of bed. My bare feet are chilly on the floor, and I pull on a pair of socks that lie on the floor, pulling my jacket over my shoulders. Outside of my bunker is a little warmer, and I can hear a movie playing in the electronic room. I stop in the doorway, observing Carl passed out in one of the comfortable chairs, the middle part of _Lonesome Dove_ playing. I pass the room and head out into the cool, damp Carolina winter air that is probably close to sixty five degrees, getting closer to the voices. I catch bits and pieces of the conversation, here and there as I progress nearer.

"I just don't think…"

"Maybe we should…"

"There's a chance she…"

"She wouldn't make…"

"What about…"

I realize that is Devil and Alexa speaking behind the bunkers. His tall frame casts a shadow on the concrete enforced wall as he runs his fingertips backwards through his hair, his chest heaving as he paces back and forth. Alexa holds out her hand as if she might catch him and hold him back like a slingshot, but the words escape her thin lips.

"I think we should take out the tracheal tube…" he says, doing a pushup on the wall then continuing to pace again.

"I think it would be best. You've exhausted the other options. She wouldn't survive the surgery, and if she did, there is always the risk of infection. We don't have the complex drugs we need. We can't keep her out with the pain meds much longer. We need to savor the morphine as much as we can. I don't mean to be… harsh…" she trails off.

"No, no…" he says with belated breath, his accent a little muffled. "I know… so, we take the tube out."

I step into view. "So, you'll just let her drown in her own bodily fluids?!" I cry, a little louder than I planned to. But it's too late, I already have.

"Honey…" Alexa reaches out towards me like she did to Devil, but retreats.

"No! How's she going to recover if she's uncomfortable?!"

"It's never comfortable to suffocate yourself!" Devil suddenly yells, his voice breaking. I stand there for a few seconds then grit my teeth, running for him with my teeth clenched, yelling at the top of my lungs. I fling myself on top of him with all my might, swinging my locked fists at him like a school-year brawl.

"HELP HER! YOU SAID YOU'D HELP HER!" I scream, hot tears streaming down my cheeks as I hit him. I feel nails on my back, probably Alexa's as she tries to pull me off, but I am stronger. Then, I feel stronger arms on my back, many of them, and I am ripped off of Devil.

"CALM! DOWN!" Rick yells at me as I try to tear out of he and T-Dog's arms. T-Dog locks them behind my back and twists my arm. "Paige, you just need to CALM. DOWN."

I start to sob as Devil rises from the ground, wiping the blood from his nose. I know that he let me beat him. He could have easily pushed me off; he was in the military, and his lanky muscles ripple like individual massifs. But he let me. For whatever reason. Carol runs to me and takes my arms, comforting me as I cry, feeling my head spin again.

"Shh, shhhh." She comforts, stroking my hair as my hat falls off into the dust. Tears torrent down my cheeks, leaving streaks in the dust that has settled. I fall to the ground, sobbing so hard that nothing comes out of my mouth.

"Take her inside." Devil suggests, touching his eye to feel the swelling. I still do not understand why he didn't fight me off at all.

Carol and T-Dog lead me inside to the table where they force me to sit. Carl looks at me with wide eyes, picking at a plate of apples and oranges. He leaves them to take a spot from my side.

"Carl, go back and watch a movie or something." Carol suggests, still rubbing my back. Carl shakes his head.

"I'll sit with her." He nods once and gives her his pinched line of a smile. Carol retreats, and T-Dog does as well, though sullenly, and Carl puts his hand on my shoulder. "You okay?"

"Yeah." I wipe my nose with the back of my hand. "Fine."

"Here." he hands me a napkin and I wipe my nose.

"Thanks."

Today, Alexa removes the tracheal tube from Beth's throat and stitches the incision closed, replacing the tube with a mask over her mouth and nose. Her heart rate will rocket to oblivion, and then slow down so much that is may only be twenty beats per minute. The little bleeps sound like a deep sea fishing vessel, lost on the high seas in a storm. Maggie and Hershel hold her hands as she finally opens her eyes slowly flutter open, disoriented as they agitate chaotically.

"Hey, hey." Maggie says softly. "Don't be afraid, Beth, we're right here." to understate, Hershel gently rubs her hand. I stand a good distance away from the bed, afraid that if I get to close, I will ruin everything. Her heart beats slower, then faster, then slower again as she breathes like she is trying to catch her breath after sprinting ten miles, though she has the oxygen mask on. Devil stands close by, taking his place by the bed.

"Beth, honey, I'm Doctor Auwley. Don't be afraid. You're in South Carolina, in my employer Pepe's home. You're safe."

She gasps for breath, desperately trying to respire. Maggie holds tightly to her, rubbing her arm. "You're gonna be okay, Beth, it's me, Maggie."

"Maggie," she cries, reaching for her, her face scrunching up with fear. "Daddy?"

"It's alright, dearest. I'm right here." Hershel says in his slightly mushed southern accent that flows like honey, rubbing her hand. "You're alright."

She gasps harder, her eyes darting. "Calm down," Alexa gently rubs her leg as she goes limp again, her chest rising and falling unevenly. "It's just the sedatives. She should be in and out of it." Alexa inquires, failing to look at me. I suddenly take her hand.

"It's alright, Bethie, I'm here now." I say softly, rubbing my other palm on her wrist. "You're safe here now, you're safe."

She slightly smiles at me under the mask. "Paige…"

"Shh, don't strain yourself. Keep the air comin' in." I touch her forehead gently. She is still extremely warm. "There ya go. Keep breathing."

She smiles uncontrollably. "You're here."

"Of course. I know, I'm not the greatest, but yeah, I'm here." I smile back. "Just rest, kay?"

She nods, squeezing Maggie's hand and closing her eyes. Devil presses his stethoscope to her chest, listens to her heart and lungs. Shaking his head, he walks away.

I sleep by her bed tonight. Glenn takes Maggie into his room, trying to get her to sleep in an actual bed, and I convinced Hershel to go to bed as well. I've had enough sleep in the middle of the day today. I'll stay up with her.

I bide my time in watching the heart monitor. It is the kind with a straight plasmid line that wavers in a graph-like triangle each time her heart beats. I count the beats in my head.

_456… 457… 458…459…... 464465466….. 467… 468. _

I doze off a little, losing track then starting over again, I rub her hand and count the beats to stay awake. I won't fall asleep. I will stay up with her.

For some reason, I remember falling asleep at night once in the back of the teal calypso. Petey is in the front seat with his knife open in his hand, the seat leaned back almost as far as a dentist's chair when they clean your teeth. I am lying parallel to the back seat, my limbs stretched way out so I can regain feeling in them. Petey is still awake, because I know if her were really sleeping, he would be snoring like an old man with the gout, trying to start a lawn mower with his foot with a dragon shoved up his nose. Tonight he is silent.

It is strange, because he is never silent. Only when he is thinking, but then again, he thinks out loud. I close my eyes and let sleep sink in as he thinks.

"Hey," I smile at Beth as she opens her eyes blearily again. Her face looks a little woozy, her eyes glassy and her face looks as white and gray as a ghost. It still preserves that blue tinge, and I can hear the disconcert in her throat. She blinks drowsily a few times like her eyelids are weighted down by heavy piles of dust. Her breath forms a slight fog on the plastic mask each time she exhales shakily, then dissipates for a moment before reappearing. I check my watch. It's about three in the morning. Well, Alexa did say that she would be waking up and nodding back off at weird times. Apparently, they're downing the medications they've been giving her.

Her hand grips around mine as she tries to speak. Her throat muscles exert as she tries to speak. "Paige…"

"Yeah, I'm right here." I smile slightly, smoothing down her arm. "Whatever you need, I'm here."

There is a short moment while I just watch the steam from her breath coat the mask then disappear, then she speaks again. "I shall fear… no… evil." She says hoarsely, gripping onto my hand in her half-consciousness.

I feel tears beginning to form in the corners of my eyes. "For thou art with me." I stroke her hair off her forehead, tears daubing down my cheeks.

She closes her eyes again, and does not wake again. When the morning gray streaks through the window, Maggie takes her usual post with a cup of coffee in her hands. She is dressed in a sweatshirt with sleeves that would fall over her hands had they not been rolled up to her wrists, and she is wearing a pair of capris that look maybe a size too big for her legs. I don't look at her for what seems like the longest time, and I just stare at Beth's distressing features.

She slowly reaches out and touches her cheek, gently stroking down it with the backs of her fingers. "Once when we were younger, we had this pet chicken named Wobby… he hated me, and he was always clucking after me and biting the backs of my legs. I was deathly afraid of him, even if I was thirteen. Even though she was eight, she loved old Wobby. Dad brought him home for her in a box." She slightly smiles, pushing her hair out of her face with her thin fingers, her fingernails turning a slight pinkish-white color when she applies pressure on her skin.

I am silent as she continues the story. "So, Wobby was this furry-footed chicken that was ornery and was always clucking around, rulin' the roost… and Beth loved him like it was her pride and joy, her jewel. And when I turned fourteen, my step-mom asked me what I wanted for my birthday supper." She actually smiles, slightly chuckling. Maybe at something from later on in the story, wherever it is going. "I told her I wanted chicken…"

"Yeah, so?" I look up, wrapping my fingers around my hat that is in my lap.

"We usually ate the chickens that we raised, so she set aside one that would be used for my birthday dinner. But in the heat of the moment… I switched the chicken that was meant to be killed for dinner, and threw Wobby in the cage instead. They looked similar, and I was fed up with him chasing my all the way down the drive… so we ate Wobby for my birthday supper."

"Did she ever find out?"

"Oh yeah. She went out to see him the next day, and upon seeing it wasn't ol' Wobby, she put two and two together and realized that she'd just eaten her chicken." She smiles, a slight leer on her face. "She blamed her mom on it so many times, though she insisted that is must have been an honest mistake. But it wasn't until she was about fifteen that I spilled to her that I switched the poultry." She pats her sister's limp hand, staring up at the glowing line on the monitor, watching her heartbeat. It slowly falters, becoming slower and then quicker again. So quick that it seems like it will kill her, beating out of her chest like this. But it goes down. Then up. Then right.

"She's good." I say softly, watching her pale lashes brush her cheeks.

"She is. We fought a lot, when we were younger, but once we got older and were separated for a while…" she sighs. "I feel like I spent all my time with Glenn, and – "

"Look, I don't know about really anything before I met you people. I mean, all I know of you is what I learned since I joined your group. But Beth loves you, and I think she understands." I put my hand over Maggie's and pat lightly. "And we gotta stay strong. We gotta stay together. Hold our heads high."

She nods, wiping her nose with the back of her sleeve. I can tell that she was just about to cry. "Thanks, Paige."

"Yeah." I say softly, standing up and brushing off. "Think I'm gonna go get something to eat."

"I'll come get you if she wakes up." She says, and I catch the slight shine of the scratch on her cheek that is where my knife sliced her skin, the first time I made human contact in months. I guess that is forgiven.

The kitchen is deserted, and I get myself a glass of water from the faucet, watching out the window as Tidan struggles to yank the lead on Margarita the donkey. She plants her feet in the ground, and I draw my attention away from the window again, instead listening to the music that comes from the bunker. I follow the sounds of the tonal voices and musical chords. Of course, as I suspected, it is Vicki listening to her music again.

Her favorite composer, Ray LaMontagne, blares in the speakers of the old CD player she keeps in her room, and I stalk past, thinking about what I will say to yell at her to shut it up, but I actually kind of like it. It is low, with a lot of acoustics and harmonies. Throatily tones that dig deep into my soul.

_Now you act so surprised_

_To hear what you already know_

_And all you really had to do was ask_

_I'd have told you straight away_

_All those lies were truth_

_And all that was false was fact_

_Now you hold me close and hard_

_But I was like a statue at most_

_Refusing to acknowledge you'd been hurt_

_Now you're clawing at my throat_

_And you're crying all is lost_

_But your tears they felt so hot upon my shirt_

_But your tears they felt so hot upon my shirt_

_Well the truth it fell so heavy_

_Like a hammer through the room_

_That I could choose another over her_

_You always said I was an actor, baby_

_Guess in truth you thought me just amateur_

_Was it you who told me once_

_Now looking back it seems so real_

_That all our mistakes are merely grist for the mill_

_So why is it now after I had my fill_

_That you steal from me the sorrow that I've earned_

_Shall we call this a lesson learned?_

_Shall we call this a lesson learned?_

I stand outside the door and listen for what feels to me a long time, until I fear tears fill my eyes. I slide against the wall and my bottom _twumps_ on the ground as I cry with my forehead pressed into my knees. The lyrics seem to flow around me.

_Well the truth it fell so heavy_

_Like a hammer through the room_

_That I could choose another over her_

_You always said I was an actor, baby_

_Guess in truth you thought me just amateur_

_That you never saw the signs_

_That you never lost your grip_

_Oh, come on now_

_That's such a childish claim_

_Now I wear the brand of traitor_

_Don't it seem a bit absurd_

_When it's clear I was so obviously framed_

_When it's clear I was so obviously framed_

_Now you act so surprised_

_To hear what you already know_

_And all you really had to do was ask_

_I'd have told you straight away_

_All those lies were truth_

_And all that was false was fact_

_Now you hold me close and hard_

_But I was like a statue at most_

_Refusing to acknowledge you'd been hurt_

_Now you're clawing at my throat_

_And you're crying all is lost_

_But your tears they felt so hot upon my shirt_

_But your tears they felt so hot upon my shirt_

The sobs come harder and harder now, and I wet the knees of my jeans. I gasp for air and sit like this for however long it takes for me to regain myself.

_Blip…. Blip…. Blip….. blip..blip..blip..blipblipblipblip…blip….blip…_

"Come on." I say softly as Hershel and Maggie's eyes stay trained on her face. "Come on, Beth,"

A few others are in the room as well. Lori and Carol, along with Rick and T-Dog stand like trained sentries at their guard posts. Daryl stands there as well, but more separated from the group. Once we gain eye contact, and keep it for a moment. I see something deep in his eyes that is maybe sorrow, remorse, pity. Pity for what? Our eyes train away from each other as Maggie continues rubbing over her sister's hand. She has tears forming at the edges of her eyes as Glenn rubs her shoulder gently.

"I can't stand to see her like this. In pain, not even…" she trails off and lays her tired head to her father's shoulder. He comforts her, his face just as momentous as his daughter's. I slowly kneel by the side of the bed.

"Beth," I whisper with my forehead pressed to the sheet on the bed. I say the rest in my head because it is only for her, no one else should hear what I have to say. _It's me again, Paige. I know you're fighting, but you have to keep doing it. You have to keep going onward. You're not going to leave me, do you hear me? You are strong. And you are pretty, and smart, and you can beat this, I know you can. Please, please. _

We are all silent as the monitor seems to go slower and slower as if it is rolling down a slope.

_Blip. Blip. Blip….. blip… blip…. Blip… blip…..blip. _Beth gasps a strenuous lungful of air.

The lustrous line has a tiny little plasmid orb going through it, but there are no more tiny trios of lights, and no more blips. The tiny indentation in the light searches for something, anything, to make it go up and down again, like a sailboat gliding across the calmest waters. The room is silent.

The mask over her face no longer has steam from her breath, and the hiss of inhalation is no longer audible. Like it was never there. Maggie's mouth hangs open in shock, suddenly bursting into sobs so hard that she makes no sound at all. Hershel doesn't move an inch as he realizes his daughter is not with us any longer.

_**I am sorry… a little bit of a depressing chapter, but thanks to those who have stayed with me through this… I would really love more viewers, to encourage me to write more, so if you could, please spread the word! Thanks! And RIP Beth… **_


	6. Six: Re-End

_**I am sorry if this chapter is a little confusing and weird to you, it is supposed to be in some parts… hope you like, and thanks for reviews! Ps, sorry if it has a ton of lines separating things, I apologize, I didn't know how to fix it on my word document. Special thanks to Rainbowteeth8, you are the best, gurl!**_

Six: Re-End

The sounds of a sister's breathless, never-ceasing sobs fill my ears as I stare at the somber scene that lies before me. The dead girl lies on the bed with the oxygen mask still strapped to her face, her only family left sobbing over her body. Her blue skin is emaciated, delicate, and her interwoven blonde hair is fanned out on the pillow like a Japanese fan in the pale hand of a kabuki dancer.

The doctor with a trenchant chin stands on the side of the scene as I watch, and he slowly crosses over. His steps are long strides with a girl with short red hair behind him, her palms pressed to his back, and she moves as he does. Their mouths move like they are talking, but I hear nothing but the sounds of the sister's sobbing and the father's soft sounds of incredulity. A mother holds onto her son who gasps with pain at the dismal panorama, his bright blue eyes filled with tears.

I see this like I am looking through a blurry raindrop, magnifying the tragic faces of those around me. My heart beats in my ears so loudly that I hear nothing else. I feel it in my neck and chin and in my throat, my entire pulse tugs and jerks out of it like it is so desperate to rip out of my skin. I try to move my hands up to my neck to try and to push my pulse back into my neck, but it is no use. It pulsates out of my neck like a cannon, fully loaded, and I feel myself losing it.

Slowly, I reach into my pocket and grip my fingers around the handle of my knife. It is smooth, slightly tepid, and the blade is still barred inside. _Well, Paige will have to change that._ Unhurriedly, I slowly pull it out of my pocket, slip the lever on the handle. The sound of the blade clicking out is the only thing I hear beside my heartbeat, and even that sounds hallow and echoed. The wall of ice before me is all I see. Blocking me off from the real world, all of representativeness, and all that is verve. Everything is ice, and I enjoy that, because ice is me.

I plunge my knife into the wall of hoarfrost that lies before me, a howl escaping my lips. The world around me trickles to my feet, cascading like tiny elven droplets as I stab at the ice that keeps me in this cage. It shatters around me, glacial bits flying in my face as subzero tears stream down my face like tributaries, leaving black burning frostbite on my already soggy cheeks. The knife chips away pieces of the ice like it is the only thing keeping me from reality and the startling capriccios world.

"No, no, stop it!" I scream as the ice closes in on me. If I don't destroy this barrier, I will be stuck in this ice-world forever, evermore the only being in this frosty kingdom. I fall to my knees and sob, putting my already frozen hands on the rime wall. My hands tingle with the artic hedge that keeps me from myself, my skin molding to it like the frost is sticking to my fingers. I cry out in pain as my vision turns from red to blue, then black, then back to red again. I press my forehead against the ice as I sob gasping groans from my chest and lift my shaking hands up to the air. "Please, please,"

There is a gush through my brain and at first, I think my head is exploding. Suddenly, I can hear something other than my heartbeat, a yelling that seems like it is underwater. It sounds like a helicopter in my ears as I regain my vision, swooping around me. The movements of the others around are delayed and seem blurrier and blurrier as I open my eyes wider and wider. Suddenly, I feel a burning feeling, radiating first from my knees, and then downwards and upwards to my toes and all the way to the tip of my head until I feel like everything is literally on fire. The ice wall is gone, and now I am engulfed in flames. My heart beats slower and louder in my ear and I hear a muffled yell. I scream and try to stab my knife at the fire, but it is too strong. It doesn't go through like it did to the ice wall.

"Paige! PAIGE!" a distant voice calls, and I let the knife drop my hand with a shallow, postponed clink that reminds me of bebes hitting the floor. I curl to the ground like I am a turtle, my elbows and forearms pressed against the cold tiles and my forehead between my arms. My heart feels like it is racing, my skin radiating with head but the tip of my nose and finger and toe tips are freezing as the ice wall.

"Paige, look at me." a voice says, and a soft hand cups under my chin. I feel so weak, like the fire and ice has drained me. I can't take it anymore, and I snap, letting my body go weak as I sob. I don't even feel the hand on my chin, trying to get me to look. I let myself go, and spiral into a shade of naught.

I feel a hand on my shoulder that feels much, much too warm and I can feel the silty layer of dirt and unwashed fingers as I am dragged to my feet. I stumble on my own legs as I am dragged through the doorway and down the hall, outside until I am at the side of the house. Daryl throws me into the gray paneled side of the structure, gritting his jaws together with the bottom one thrust out in front.

"Get a damn hold on yourself, you dumb bitch! Get ahold of yourself and quit your damn cryin'!" he hollers, grabbing my arm. "You like that? You like that, huh? You wanna cry harder? Is that what it is? I'll make you cry harder!"  
"Get offa me!" I scream, pushing his shoulder away from me. "You jackass, get offa me!"

"What the hell were you doing in there!" he hollers, pacing back and forth with his already soiled boots squishing in the wet grass. "You crazy in the head, girl? That it?"

"I ain't crazy!" I sob, feeling the need to bash my head in like I did when I started banging the pitchfork against the concrete part of the horse stall. I feel that same tightness in my neck, the pulsing heart that radiates throughout my entire body like a metronome. The same exact feeling that I got when I watched Petey die. "You're the crazy one, draggin' me outa there like that, oh God." I sob, feeling even more vulnerable. Beth is dead, Beth is gone, Beth is lyin' dead on that bed in there with that damn oxygen mask over her face. "Oh, God, Daryl… I killed her, I killed Beth… I'm the one responsible."

"Ain't no one responsible! It was a virus!" he paces back towards me now, and I'm afraid that he'll hit me, but he doesn't. "Damn virus killed her in a world full of walkers…" he shakes head, sniffing his runny nose.

"It's all my fault, Daryl, I left her in that van… if it weren't for me, she might still be –"

"Shut that shit, 'cause it ain't gonna cut it. No blame games, girl. No guilt trips, and no survivor's blame. She's gone, and there ain't a _thing _we can do about it!"

_"Oh God, she's dead." _ I sob, feeling my nose run all the way down to my lips. I don't care, I let it this one time. I don't feel like wiping it with the back of my sleeve. My best friend is dead. However she felt about me, Paige Elizabeth Swift, I know that Beth was _my_ best friend. Or the closest thing I ever had to one. She may have really hated me inside, or resented me for all of this, but somehow I doubt that. I doubt that she could have hated me, because I felt such a kinship for her that I never had before. I sob here on the ground for what could be months for all I care, but Daryl clears his throat. I look up to his hand that is offered to me, grubby and dirty as it is, but I take it anyway. He pulls me to my feet and leads me out to the water pump that is where Tidan gets water for the horses. He pumps some into a bucket and spoons me a ladleful, and I drink it gratefully. He takes a sip off of the same spoon.

"Look, kid… I'm not your dad, and I sure as hell ain't your brother. Not even your friend."

"Just shut up."

"No, I won't. You have a mega-meltdown in there, you don't getta tell me to shut my mouth. What the hell went on back there?"

"I – I don't know." I say truthfully, wiping my nose with the back of my hand. I hear one of the horses whinny in its stall, the sound of hooves against hay and concrete. "I don't know, Daryl, I – saw this thing, it was this huge wall of ice. I felt my heart beating in my ears, and I knew it was real."

"What the hell you talkin' about, ain't no wall of ice. You sure stabbed the wall though."

"What?" I say, my voice barely a whisper. He sighs and takes another drink off the ladle.

"You say you seen some ice wall, but you was stabbin' at the wall for a while, screamin', fightin'… We were tryin' to pull you off, but damn, you wouldn't have it."

I slowly look up at him. "I was stabbing the wall?"

"Yeah." He nods, and I watch his adam's apple go down. "Like it was a walker or somethin'."

Or an ice wall. This scares me more than anything. I have no recollection of this, and confusion overtakes my mind. I understand how I got to point A to C, but B is missing. It was like I was stuck in some imaginary world. Some world I have no remembrance of. I slide against the stable, feeling the _squish _ of the seat of my jeans in the wet grass. "Daryl, I don't know what's going on."

He sits beside me, his knees up identical to mine. "Beth…" he trails off.

"Don't you feel anything…" I say softly, feeling so exhausted. I notice that my hand has splinters in it and is covered in a slight dust coating that is white. Like drywall. My fingers feel numb, like they have before when I'd wake up in a tree with my hand still clenched around my knife.

"Everyone loved that girl." He clears his throat. "Hard not to."

"I meant… she's gone, do you feel anything."

He sighs. "Everyone loved her, even me I guess. Reckon I don't love her anymore, since she's gone."

"You don't love people when they're gone?" I question, resting my head on the concrete wall of the stable that is stained with age and wear and tear.

"Never loved no one… donno."

I am silent, and he lets me fall asleep with my head against his shoulder.

When I wake up, I am in my bed, and I have the sudden compulsion to go check on Beth like I always do, every time I wake up. I feel like quivering when I realize for the second time that there is nothing for me to check on. This makes me wonder how Hershel and Maggie are doing. I slip on a pair of cardboard slippers that were given to me by Olive, the kind that you can get at hotels that are in a plastic package, and pull my coat over my shoulders. I think Daryl may have carried me here, but it is vague. My head throbs something terrible, like I am hung-over, which I have been many times. Sometimes I would go moonshining with a few hooligans that I used to know. This headache seems all too much of a familiar friend.

Slipping into another room of the bunker, I search for my musket. I haven't seen it since the first night we arrived here. I vaguely remember someone taking it from me for "safe-keeping" in the rush of when Devil was working over Beth, but now I can't find where it is. Frustrated, I settle on a small pistol that I find in one of the nearly empty drawers in Daryl's room, shoving it against my skin at the waistline of my jeans. While I am in here, I also straighten the covers for him. He won't even notice, but I don't mind.

I slide to the bathroom and stick my head under the faucet, taking a few gulps before I head into the bunker common rooms. The television set has a blank blue screen that pops up when it has been on so long without playing a disc. I shuffle past it, rubbing my forehead as I walk outside. The sun seems too bright so I squint my eyes, realizing that I left my hat in my room. I leave it and decide to go to the house instead of going back for it. When I open the door, it is nearly silent beside the sounds of crying and hushed voices.

I walk into the kitchen, where Maggie sits at the head of the table, crying into her hands. Pepe stands behind her, gently patting his olive-casted hand that looks so worn it appears caramelized on her shoulder. Her body shakes with sobs each time she takes a breath, and Glenn rubs her knee under the table. His own cheeks are stained with dry tears, his eyes slightly bloodshot, though he is not crying at the moment.

Hershel is sitting at the table as well, his head in his hands. He pushes on his forehead with the outside sides of his fingers, as if he has a headache as bad as mine, but I can see the tears drip down on the table, and hear his occasional small gasp.

"_Cariño,"_ Pepe says softly in his old-time Spanish-sounding voice that is as smooth as a pat of butter. "You feel okay?"

I nod and take a place beside Hershel. He and Maggie are more important to me right now, instead of my own needs. I gently place my hand on his back and begin rubbing in between his shoulders. He looks up at me with blue-gray eyes that are the same color as Beth's. I give him a reassuring nod that turns into a sob of pain, and I take the old man in my arms. He cries, in great pain, as his daughter will never be held in his arms again, will never smile for him again, will never walk down the aisle or kiss the man of her dreams. I comfort him silently until another man walks into the room.

He is fairly young-looking, possibly twenty-five or so, with long hair to his shoulder of a curly blonde color, and he is covered in grease and smudges of dirt.

"Boss," he turns to Pepe, who takes his hand off of Maggie's shoulder. Carol and Lori take the places of comforting her. "I needa talk to ya."

"Of course," Pepe crosses to him and stops at the halt of one room to the other. "What is it? Is there a problem?"

"Naomi and I were wondering… where should we – dig the hole." He jabs his thumb towards the window, and I see a slightly short girl, holding a shovel in one hand.

"How about… out by the big old scarlet oak tree?"

"Will do, boss..." he nods once and disappears. It is strange how many people I don't usually see around here. Most of them, I think, are people that Pepe recruited before the apocalypse, to help keep this place running.

I take a deep, refreshing breath and rise to my feet. Carol looks at me for a moment, a concerned look on her face. I refuse to look at her. If I really did have another episode, such as Daryl said I did – I don't want to face what I did. Now, we mourn. Like normal human beings.

I wander outside out by the pump where Daryl gave me water, and pump it a few times, listening to the water splattering the bottom of the bucket. The first time I look up, Carl is standing there.

"Can I try?" he asks, pushing his hat down over his hair.

"Go away, Carl. Get the hell away from me." if I really was stabbing the wall, I don't want him, or anyone around me. I won't hurt him. If I am crazy, I won't drag this group down with me. I take a long, drawn sip on the ladle and gulp the cool well water down.

"Are you okay?" his eyebrows bunch between his eyes. "Earlier…"

"I told you to go away, Carl… didn't your parents teach you to listen to people who are older than you?"

He scuffle his feet. "You're my friend, and friends help friends."

Yeah, just like I helped Beth. How she died on my watch, _my watch. _Carl looks up expectantly, and I take his arm, pulling him over to the pump. "Just pull down on it; it'll come out if you pull down real hard."

He pulls down on the red-painted pump and water spurts into the bottom of the blue bucket. He pumps a few more times until he scoops the ladle out and takes a drink. We are silent for a long time, as times are often between us. Then he turns towards me.

"She went the way she wanted to."

"Excuse me?"

"She did… Beth did. She went the way she wanted to. She didn't wanna be gutted by a walker… and she didn't commit suicide. She died like a normal person." I put my hand on top of his hat and tip his head up so I can look into his eyes. He stares up at me again. "She didn't have to suffer very much. Not more than a normal human would."

I pat his hat and hold him close to my side. "Right."

He hugs me back, a sideways hug like he is trying to be more macho, and I walk him back to the house. Maggie is still at the table, but Hershel has migrated to the window where he stares off at the distant fields. "Carl," Lori calls, and Carl goes to her side. She hugs him gently, ruffling up his light brown hair as she always does, holding her son close. I slowly edge down the hallway to the room that Beth passed in. The white room with all of the medical equipment, the tools and drawers of medical supplies. I watch Alexa come from the bathroom to the north of the room, carrying a porcelain bowl with a sponge floating on top.

"Oh…" she says softly, stopping when she sees me, then walking into the room again slowly, with more of an edge. I follow her into the room, standing in the corner. Beth is covered with a sheet, not an inch of her showing, but I know who it is under there. She sets the bowl down, along with the sponge on a rolling side table that she guides to her with her foot, and I watch as she slowly brings the sheet back. Her face is the same as her last breath. Her eyes are closed, the pale bluish lids weighted down over her eyes. Her lips are slightly opened, a slight gap between them, but they are tinted bluer than I remember. Alexa takes the large sponge with care after uncovering her body, first dabbing it at her face, then down her neck and so on. She is cleaning her off.

"Devil does most of the dirty work…" she says softly. "Seems like I do most of the cleaning up."

I don't reply, just watch her gently dab at my friend's skin with the soft brown, fluffy sponge. My eyes trail to the wall that is opposite of her, and I slowly take in the damage. The drywall looks completely destroyed, gouged out like it is a rotting shell of a wall. It is hard to believe that I did this because I have no recollection of the incident. I chew on my lip in the corner.

"Ever since we came to _Espero, _things sort of went… downhill. Everything spiraled out of control, people were dying all over the place. It got to the point where we didn't let anyone in the gates, unless it was urgent. And Devil tried to save every one of them. Every one that came in with a bite, a scratch. He thought that he could help them. That the drugs would work. One person after another died, and turned. We buried so many people we barely even knew. And I know he tried to save each one of them. I know in my heart, Paige, that he tried to save this girl."

A small sob escapes her delicate, thin pink lips, but I stay still in the corner. I bite my lip to keep myself together. What Devil did for Beth will never be good enough for me. When he took the tube out of her throat, he knew she would be suffocating to death. Alexa sugarcoating it isn't going to change what would have happened. We came to them for help, prosperity, for _hope. _ "She was really sick when you got here. We didn't want to say anything. Devil always tries to install lots of _espero _in the people that come here; in any of his patients over the years. And he tries to install hope in me. Beth was a beautiful soul, Paige. Such a waste…"

She continues to run the sponge on her neck, gently dabbing at the wound from the tube that will never heal entirely. She tucks a piece of her hair gently behind her ear. I step closer to her, studying her features that have ceased to move forever. I train my eyes on her chest as if it might start moving again. I can still hear her voice in my ear. For some reason, I remember being in WalMart, and her telling me how she loved the smell of lipgloss. And that makes me think about the nail polish that she slipped into her bag.

"Maybe I could dress her in her favorite clothes." Alexa sighs softly in her elven voice, observing Beth's attire. This includes a pair of socks that are red with white and pink stars on them, and a gown that she had been redressed in a few days ago when Maggie had bathed her. I stand silent, my eyes training on the necklace still sitting on the side table. She notices. "Should I put this back on her?" I nod. "Alright." She unclasps the chain and slowly leans down, gently slipping the chain under her neck to clip it.

Suddenly, she screams as Beth grabs her arm. Her hand flashes forward so suddenly that I jump as well, and Beth slowly pulls herself up with Alexa's arm in her grip. Her fingers are still a slight blue color, along with the rest of her body. Around her eyes is a chalky gray color. She grabs for Alexa's hair that hangs in her face as she continues to scream. Beth's eyes are a coated-over yellow-gray color. As she struggles to pull the woman in, she keeps her eyes trained on her meal, hissing and gnashing her teeth. I scream at the sight of her, water still dripping off of her forehead from the sponge Alexa used to clean her off, and she snaps and groans deep in her throat. The stitches that were sewn into the incision of her throat from the tracheostomy start to rip open, her skin tearing, but she doesn't notice. Alexa pulls away, trying to get out of her grip, but Beth pushes her back into the windowsill. She hits her head and falls on the ground dazed as Beth turns to me.

Her eyes are empty, so hallow and harrowing, a sick blue-gray color. She is infected. She is one of them. A rotty. A walker. A geek. A carrier. She looks at me like I am her food, the only thing that will keep her satisfied. When I look into her eyes, I do not see Beth, I see a creature so much more horrifying. She keeps her eyes on me as she steps over Alexa who may be unconscious on the floor, never looking down at her socks shuffle on the cold tile. Her blonde hair falls in her face like a mop, she grates her teeth and bobs her head at me, snarling. I scream again, this time something actually coming out. Blood pours onto the gown she is wearing, soaking down the front with a crimson stain that looks like the scene from a chainsaw massacre movie. The neck wound tears more, and she holds her arm out to me, reaching with her long, bloody fingernails.

_Wake up,_ Petey's voice rings in my head. _Wake up, sis, and this'll all be over. _

"Shut up!" I yell to him, backing away from Beth, into the wall. I knock over a shelf of medical supplies, toppling over onto me as I sob, observing Alexa still on the floor. Why is no one coming!

_This is all a dream, honey. When you wake up, I'll be there._

"Petey? Petey, where are you?"

_I'm right here. You know how to end this nightmare._ His soft, velvet-like voice says, and I feel the weight of the pistol shoved into the side of my jeans. I pull it out and sob as I point it toward Walker-Beth. I aim for her head, my hands shaking so bad I can hardly believe I can even hold the gun up. Beth reaches for me, making a slight rasping noise, the chords in her throat visibly moving through the gushing, gory hole in her neck. "Beth, honey, I'm sorry. I'm _sorry,"_ With tears running down my face, I pull the trigger, and she falls in a heap on the floor.

Rick appears in the doorway, along with Pepe, who must have heard my screaming. Devil runs to Alexa, who is still disoriented on the floor. I realize that this all happened in a matter of second, and they are just arriving. I still sob, my mouth hanging open that the somber scene ahead of me. Beth, in a pile on the ground in a contorted position, people piling in the room like hounds, sniffing me out. I drop the gun and fall to my knees, sobbing. Petey is not here, and this most certainly is not a dream. I cry over Beth's body, running my fingers through her hair as I hug her close to me.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, oh, fucking God, Beth, I am _sorry." _I sob to her, realizing that I have killed her for a second time. There is no response from her, as she lies motionless on the ground. Maggie appears in the doorway, her mouth hanging open in shock, and she turns into Glenn's shoulder, gasping for air. I sob, still on the ground and trying to revive Beth. But she is gone. She was already gone.

Hands try to grab for me, to pull me up off the body that I sob onto, but I won't let them. I cling onto Beth like my own life depends on it, screaming at the top of my lungs. I scratch whoever tries to grab me, punching, kicking, biting. I will not let them take me off of her. Finally, I lay in a collapsed heap on the floor. Beth, sweet Beth with soft blonde hair and pools of blue in her eyes is gone, and it is all my fault. I brush my fingers over the bullet wound in her head. This was not Beth. Beth was already dead. I sob and sob until I feel a soft hand on me, but this time, I let them pull me up. Tidan gently holds my head to his chest, stroking over my hair as I squint my eyes, tears rolling down my cheeks. I feel his chest heave, as he must have ran here, and I can hear his heart beating in his chest as he envelopes me. His slightly muscled biceps stay around me as he holds me up, his chin keeping my head on his chest. It feels like forever that he holds me like this, but in reality, it is only a few moments.

Hershel takes Maggie in his arms gently, comforting her. He has had to watch his daughter die twice today. It is a wonder the man is still on his feet, and Maggie is falling apart.

I was the one to kill her again. I was the one to re-end her. And I know that this is only the first of the horrors that will come. This is only the beginning. I know Beth wasn't scratched, or bitten. I watched Devil, Alexa, and Tidan check her body. She had not one scratch or bite, not anything of any kind. Yet she turned. She turned, and I am confused.

We stand around the now-covered hole that is so final that it makes my chest hurt. There is a small cross that has been built out of wood, planted in the ground and secured with sod that has been placed around the base. In the distance, I can see many of these crosses planted in the ground like seeds. I remember what Alexa had said about Devil trying to save many that came here, failing. I stare out at the rolling field and beautiful orchards that are littered with the crosses. There is a small cubical building in the distance that I can see as well, and the extra bunkers that are yet to be used. Small crosses dot the property.

Maggie stands beside me, her arm held by her father who has cleaned himself up a little for this. He wears a gray suit that fits him nicely, one that Pepe let him borrow, and Maggie wears her usual clothes. Olive had asked if she would like her to find us some funeral clothes, something black, but we didn't want to dress up in black. Beth wouldn't like that, Maggie said. She would have wanted us wearing normal clothes. So, I am dressed in one of the shirts that I took from WalMart, the emerald green button-up with the elbow length sleeves. It has been washed and ironed by Mya since I have been here, as all of our clothes have been. It has been hanging on the clothesline, so it feels starchy and stiff from flapping in the wind, but I will get used to the scratchy material after a while. Though it is slightly windy, the sun still shines down on the scarlet oak tree. It is a deep greenish-red color, not the scarlet I know it will turn next fall.

We slowly remove our hats at the request of Pepe, who stands closest to the cross. He removes his own as well, revealing a bald, wrinkled head, with graying black hair on the sides. I pull my hat off of my head and hold it in both of my hands as Glenn takes off his cap. Tidan stays closeby to me and I feel his hand slide to my wrist. I let it stay there.

"My family," Pepe looks to a small woman who is also olive-casted with crow's feet around her eyes, who I recall being named Rosia, and their one child who is a grown boy that towers over everyone accept maybe Devil. "Friends," he nods towards Olive, Mya, Vicki, and a few others who are grouped together. Olive wipes her eyes and Mya pats her shoulder. "And comrades," he looks at my group and myself, especially at Hershel and Maggie. Maggie has ceased crying for now and is between Glenn and Hershel, though her face is tearstained and her eyes are bloodshot and red. "Death is not an easy thing. Especially when we have pulled together in such a way to protect one another. But guilt is not the culprit here, no. People say that you do not know what you have until it is gone. This is not a truth, because you do know… you just never believe that you will lose it. Death leaves a heartache on all involved. But the love for this girl will leave a memory. A memory of how she lit up lives and made these dark days lighter.

"I did not know Beth… I didn't have the opportunity to engage with her, but with her family and friends around her I do know that she has been loved. Now, her soul seeks a brighter home, maybe a better place beyond this eccentric world. Kind friends, your care has shown through with Beth, and now she will exchange your friendship for others. May she stay safe, wherever she may be, and may she watch over us."

Rick clears his throat. "She was… a good friend, I know, to my son. And to the others around her. She would rather be sentenced to death than to hurt anyone." Lori, his wife, wraps her arm around his.

"Beth was like… a second child to me. I felt like I was her aunt…" she says, wiping the corner of her eye. "I pray that she did not go painfully. And that she is somewhere safe with others who are taking care of her."

Maggie tries to speak around her sobs. "My sister was the best friend I ever had… I know we fought, but when we were older… I know she would have done anything for me, and I – I would do anything for her, I –" she chokes and Hershel tightens his arm around her. He clears his throat, straightening the collar of his suit.

"I never thought I would lose someone else." Hershel says, and I can see the pain in his aged, wise eyes. I wonder how many others he has lost. All I know is that Maggie and Beth were the only ones he had when I came into the picture. "But I know – that she is in God's care now." Maggie turns her forehead to his.

Carol softly says kind words about Beth, though Daryl is silent as he stands beside the grave, shoving his hands in his pockets. Devil gives a small speech about how she fought for her life, how it was time for her to give up. I barely listen to him as my eyes blare with tears, making my vision blurry.

"Wait!" I say, a little too loudly, and my mouth all of the sudden feels dry. The eyes slowly train on me. "I have to say something about Beth…"

They all wait. I take a deep breath as Carl slips his hand into mine slowly. For some reason, I gain strength in this and lick my lips with my dry tongue. "I wanted her to live so badly. I never wanted anything more before. The thought of losing her was just unbearable to me when I took care of her in that van… I know she probably didn't feel the same way about me as I did about her, but I just – I… never wanted someone to live so badly. And I think my hope is what kept her running so long. And she never would have made it this far had Carl not taken such good care of her. We begged for her to live, and she did." I look down at Carl, tears streaming down my face. "I had hope when I shouldn't have, and I see the dangers of that now."

Carl squeezes my hand. "Yeah. She was my friend… and we took care of her. We begged her to live, and she listened, but…"

I rub my thumb over the surface of his hand. Maggie sobs and looks up from her father's shoulder. "Thank you."

I feel my cheeks flush red and the tears feel cold as they flow down my cheeks. Maggie lays a bouquet of flowers on the dirt of the grave that has just been covered up, placing her hand on the top of the wooden cross to steady herself. Glenn grabs her before she can collapse with sobs on her little sister's grave. Carl wraps his arms around me and I hug him softly, my chest heaving with sobs. "Carl, we tried, we did… we kept her going for long enough."

He slightly cries, trying not to. He doesn't want me to think he's a baby. "God will take care of her, Paige, He will."

I don't reply, because I still don't know how I feel about God.

I rifle in the beat-up messenger bag that has been pushed under Maggie's bed and left untouched. I find myself wondering if she kept it, or if I only made it up that she slipped it into her bag. I dump the entire contents out onto the floor, gritting my teeth and pawing through the contents of what is spilled out on the floor. I have no intention of taking any of these things that sprawl out on the concrete floor; a few pairs of jeans that are still dirty and unwashed, a couple of wrinkled shirts. I hold each of them up and study them. A couple are tank tops that are so nice and almost fancy for the clothes that she took for literally, the end of the world. I fold them sloppily and set them aside, folding a few long-sleeved shirts, and a few pairs of socks. As I pick up a scarf, a small bottle rolls out onto the floor, making a _clack_ noise as it hits the concrete. I pick it up, finding what I was looking for.

_Cobalt blue. _

I uncap the bottle and let the fumes of the nail polish fill my nose as I hold the slick brush up to my nose. I then slide it over my thumb nail, painting it the vibrant blue color. Beth's favorite color. I paint my nails painstakingly slow, making each one of them perfect even though they are short and stubby. Then I wait for at least forty five minutes for them to dry. When I am satisfied, I pack the bag back up and slide it under Maggie's bed again, trying to make it the same as it was before.

Wind chimes tinkle in the wind as I hobble down the steps, feeling so stiff. Slowly, I walk behind the stable and stare out at the vast rolling hills of the fields and the orchards that are on Pepe's beautiful estate that literally feels like Heaven after what I have been through. I just can't stop thinking about how I heard Petey's voice before I shot Beth in the head when she was coming at me. How he said that if I just ended her, my nightmare would be over. I did not want to believe that my best friend was walking towards me, if it even was her at all. Maybe it was, and maybe it wasn't. But I know that I saw her die twice. A year ago, I wouldn't have thought this possible. But this is the world I live in now. A sick, twisted, demented world, where nothing makes sense and secrets are being kept from me, for whatever reason. And I kept secrets of my own.

The sun is slightly warmer than usual that I have noticed in the winter of South Carolina. It may even be more than seventy degrees. The sun shines on my face as I tip my head up towards the sky. The overcasting of the gray sky is mostly gone, displaying the deep majestic blue of the sky. I wonder if Beth really is up there, or if you don't really go anywhere when you die. Does God really take you for a reason, or is it all cruelty? Do people just die to cause pain? He makes me feel like I want to give up, that is what he does.

_God works in strange ways,_ Petey once told me. _He doesn't require you to succeed, Paige… he only requires you to try. _

He's right. He does work in the strangest ways. Taking awayeveryone I start to care about. Petey. Beth. Who is next? Carl? Lori? I can't stand this any longer, waiting for Him to take away everyone that I come to care about. Why should I care about anyone at all?

Frustrated, I pace down by the orchard trees, where the plumb leaves trees quiver and flutter in the wind. I wander amongst them for what seems like hours, picking the plumpest plumbs and squishing the tough skin in between my teeth, and then gratefully tasting the soft flesh of the fruit inside that is a soft yellow-orange color. I squish the purplish skin in my blue fingernails, admiring the colors against each other, then spit the pit out on the ground for some bird to peck at, scuffing my boots on the ground as I sway through the trees upon trees. There are so many I could get lost in here. And maybe I want to.

I think about leaving. I think about finding my musket, and my knife that was confiscated from me when I stabbed the wall, or whatever happened. I could go out on my own again. There is nothing to drag me down now. If Beth was here, things may have been different. Maybe I would have a reason to stay, to care for a friend. Maybe then, I would tell myself that they wanted me here. That possibly, I had a reason to stay. I tell myself that I could go, walk down that dirt road, past the gate that I so desperately wanted open, but now want closed behind me.

Leaving would certainly solve a lot of my problems. Maybe if I increase the distance from all of this, everything will just fall into play and things can go back to normal. I can forget about this. I remember the feelings I had when I first got here. Just as the name of the place implied, while I was alive, I was hoping. Now, I am alive. And hope seems to have run so thin that it is stretched out over a drum head.

Sighing, I push myself up off the ground, the heels of my boots squishing in the sod as I use the soles of my feet to hold my weight. I pace again through the trees, camouflaging myself in the foliage of the fruit trees like when I was younger and I used to play Power Rangers with the other kids, pretending I was am the most stealthy of ninjas and not even the most skilled can see me. That is how I feel now. Like no one can see me, and I like it that way. Maybe if no one can see me, then I can be invisible again. it isn't difficult to hide myself. I have done it for months at a time. Faded into the woodwork, eventually just faded away altogether. All my life, that is what I have truly been trying to do.

I pick another plump plumb and sink my teeth into it, sucking the succulent flesh out as I study the pallet that is imbedded in the purple skin. My ears snap to attention at the sound of a soft howl in the distance. I don't know if there are wolves in South Carolina, or why they would be this close. I am pretty sure that Pepe said that the property was secure and the animals that were here were harmless. Shrugging, I walk amongst the leaves again, thinking. Then, I hear padding feet a few rows of trees over. There is a deep snarl, and I suddenly feel the impulsive need to run. I do so, the squished plumb carcass still in my hand as I turn and run head over heels.

Quick vexing paws thud behind me, from somewhere, and I suddenly feel like I am in a sci-fi film where the aliens are chasing the helpless main character. Reflexively, I reach for the pouch on my hip that holds my knife, but it is not there, and neither is the gun that is usually slung over my shoulder. With nothing to protect myself, all I can do is run from whatever creature is my pursuer.

A large darkened figure leaps into my path, and the scream escapes my lips. A large black dog with large shaggy wolf-like ears lowers its head at me, growling with its pale tongue on the roof of its mouth. Another larger dog with muscled flanks and a stout body growls at me, its seemingly gigantic paws planted firmly in the ground as it threatens to lunge. Having no idea what to do, and not being a fan of dogs in the first place, I throw the squished plumb in my hand at them. They hardly move a muscle, their wild eyes trained on me. Backing away, they come closer as well, keeping their heads low as they stalk me, their prey. I had no idea that the end may come to me by a few wild dogs in a world like this. Then again, God apparently has a sick sense of humor.

Just as I am sure the hounds are about to lunge, a figure steps into view. The face is shadowed by the dimming light and the gray ghosts of the crooked tree branches, but I can see that it is tall, dark, and the only thing I can really see is a ring of smoke puffing above what looks like the head. My sticky hands drip with the fruit slime as I back away, the dogs not retreating.

"What the hell are you doing out here?"

_**Well, I would like to thank the ones who have stayed with me this long! I have the next couple of chapters planned out, so maybe you are in for a pretty quick update! Let me know what you think, and leave a review please! Any suggestions, or things you think I should change, please pm! And thanks again, Rainbow! You da bomb!**_


	7. Seven: Dog Patch

_**Hi! Sorry for the delay in the chapter updating… I have pneumonia, ironic right? But, here it is… and sorry again for the delay in the update, and I hope you enjoy this! I hope the next update will be sooner! I would also like to thank Guest1019 for reviewing, thanks for the amazing review, honey! And again, thanks to Rainbow, you're the best!**_

Seven: Dog Patch

The black shaggy dog snaps, and I jump back before it can sink its teeth into the heel of my boot. Its black hirsute head with unkempt black fur in every direction goes lower, ready to pounce on me. The larger dog that looks like a Rottweiler shakes its muscled flanks as it jumps forward, retorting at me, spiked collar jingling around its stout neck. I back up against one of the orchard trees, losing my footing and falling back against the branches. I feel one of them scrape my back badly on the way down

"Easy, guys," a voice says, coming from the mouth of the shadowed figure. More rings of smoke puff up into the dimming twilight. The being blows, smoke protruding from what looks like a black hole of a mouth as it steps out of the darkness. The dogs still growl deeply as I take in who stands before me.

He is a particularly average man, maybe only as tall as Daryl, but his hair is a mop of brown and blond streaks that remind me of being sun-bleached accept for the gray that poisons the surfer look. He is dressed in a dirty flannel button-up that has the cuffs unbuttoned and the sleeves rolled up to about his elbows, halfway up his dense arms that are tanned and covered in a dark layer of hair. His chin has a scar on it, about the size of a thumb nail that has been peeled away, and a slight dirty layer of scruff has covered over it like a patch of rickety shingles. He smokes a Lot 826 Toro cigar; I recognize it because my father used to smoke the same exact kind. More rings of smoke dwindle up into the air as he blows it out of his mouth in puffs, his chest slightly heaving in a practiced manor.

Shaggy black dog continues to growl at me, but ceases snapping, backing off slightly towards the superior figure. The Rottweiler licks its low hanging jowls, turning its shoulder and stalking with stiff, wooden-like legs behind the alpha male. The head that seems too small for the body protrudes from around the knee of the cigar-smoker, baring crooked white teeth.

"I – I –" I start, still backing away with sludge from the squished plumb still in my hand. I wipe it on my pants and hold my hands up.

He laughs, showing a browned tongue from the tobacco, and his teeth slightly yellowed around the edges. "Huh, look what the cat dragged in…" he chuckles again, throwing his head back like a crazy man. The shaggy hound sits back on its haunches, tongue hanging out over a pair of sharp, wolf-like teeth. In fact, this one looks like it is descended from a family of wolves, but with more German shepherd features. The man bits down on his cigar and reaches for me, grabbing my ear. "Or should I say dogs…"

I stammer, still holding up my hands in surrender. He chews on his Toro for a moment as his dogs, or rather little minions, growl from behind his legs. I try to back away from his large, grizzly-like hand that grabs for me, but he catches on my ear. As he drags me with his cigar clamped between his upper and lower molars, tugging on my ear, he mutters with his clenched teeth as to not drop the cigar in his teeth. "Bobby, Jaws, heel." And the dogs follow their master, each at one of his sides like they are attached to his hips. The sky is almost black behind me as he yanks my ear, forcing me along as if I have a choice over resisting or letting him rip my ear off. His hand is so warm and thick, like sausage fingers almost, though I didn't think he was too overweight when I saw him.

"Let go of me!" I snarl, but he laughs, and I am tossed into a room that I recognize as the tack room that Tidan and I passed through on our way to the stables. It smells thickly of hay seed and manure, and the smell immediately stings my nose like the rusty smell of blood. As I try to catch myself on the floor, my left elbow cracks on the smooth concrete, and I howl in pain, my mouth opens though nothing comes out at all. The man, illuminated by the lamps that flicker during the night around the tack room puts his hands out, and his dogs circle me like they are vultures and I am the meal. Holding my elbow, I back against a shabby chair that looks like an antique my grandmother might have had. It is finished wood, and the seat and back of it are a woven wicker pattern. I realize how uncomfortable it is when I am dragged by the collar of my shirt up to sit in it. He takes a dusty roll of duct tape off the shelf with old pictures of some girl with a horse's head over her neck with a wreath of flowers and ribbons, and tapes my hands to the arm rests of the chair. He then tapes over my mouth.

Trying to speak around the tape, my voice comes out an unintelligible yell, though the words my lips won't form are quite fowl. The black shaggy canine, either the one he calls Bobby, or Jaws, snaps at me and I shut up. I have never been a fan of dogs ever since I was twelve and one of my trashy neighbor's dogs chased me home and sunk its teeth into my leg. Dogs certainly are not the biggest concern in a world like this, I am sure that I wouldn't want either one of his mutts sinking their teeth into me.

The man laughs, smoke swirling around his head like a hazy veil. The room starts to smell woodsy and like my dad did, what I can remember of him. "Bobby, stay." He tells the black dog, who sits and obeys, baring its teeth at me. _Nice dog,_ I think to myself, hoping that it won't tear me to shreds. "Jaws," the man says to the Rottweiler, who is Jaws, "Heel," and he does so on the way out. I am alone in the cold, smoky room with no one but Bobby to keep me company. The mutt stares me down, and I stare back at it, keeping eye contact so if it tries to maul me, I'll know when.

It seems like hours before I hear the voices outside of my makeshift "cell". There are three men, I think first. "I foun' 'er out in the plumb orchards… pretty scummed up, if ya ask me, Pep… an' ya know, she's kinda a looker."

I roll my eyes, but even doing as much as that, the dog growls at me, panting afterwards. It is strange how bossy it could be, then would stick its tongue out like a moron. All dogs are the same. Morons. They'd run up to the person that was gonna shoot them. Nuzzle their hand on the person holding the whip.

"Leave it to me, I'll take a look at her. Make sure she has no bites, and then we can talk to her." I recognize Pepe's voice. Then, there is another that I hear. Devil's.

"How long is this going to happen? Finding stragglers on the property?" I hear his snuffle, and probably rub his chin like he always does.

"Hell, that's how we found Tidan… wanderin' the orchards 'round here… been a few months since then, I didn't think that we'd be findin' no one else out there… wonderin' how she got herself in myself, we got the place pretty secure now."

"Yeah, but it isn't a prison." I hear Devil speak again. "Not like we have barbed wire fences and fire-hour alarms. People can get in, isn't easy, but you remember how Tidan did it. Anyone else with a spry mind can sneak in." I hear the sarcasm in his voice this time.

"Well, I'd better go talk to her." Pepe says. "If you two want to bicker about this, be my guest then." He clears his throat, and I hear the door creak slightly as he steps into the room. It is still shadowed in here due to the only lighting being the oil lanterns hanging around the exterior of the room. Pepe strokes his moustache as he looks at me. "Paige?"

"Mmm! MM!" I try to talk, but the duct tape over my mouth restricts me. I give up talking as he crosses over to me.

"_Lo siento, novio." _He says, peeling away the corner of the tape and ripping the rest off slowly. I cry out as he rips the remainder off. I breathe hard through my mouth now as he tosses the tape aside. The black dog growls as the Rottweiler paces into the room as well, snarling in unison. "Oh, shut up, you _sucio chuchos"_

"Pepe," I yell hoarsely, swallowing to try and moisten my throat again. If my throat wasn't so dry, I probably would be yelling, but I feel exhausted. My elbow still rings with pain, vibrating with the memory of it hitting the concrete. "THE HELL, WHAT THE HELL!"

He tries to calm me, but I snap at him with my words. "WELL, are you going to fucking rip the duct tape from my wrists, or keep my tied to this chair like a _prisoner!"_

He considers for a moment. "I'm sorry, _querido._"

"Keep her tied down for a second there, mate." Devil says, stepping into the room, his muddy boots leaving smudges on the concrete. The other man steps into the room, now without a cigar, but I can see a fresh one sticking out from behind his ear like a pencil. Devil rubs his chin, his slight whisker shadows making a scruffle sound. His left eye still has a slight bruised shadow at the corner, and his lip still has a scab. I've avoided him since the day I attacked him. But he knows that I should at least be kept taped to a chair while I am in this spitting angry mood. When I am seeing red, I could take on three people and win, no doubt, even if I am only just over a hundred pounds.

"You know this girl?" the smoke ring man says, grinding his teeth together. "How the hell do you know this girl?"

Pepe strokes his moustache again. "Camel… don't be rash, _amigo._ There was a group… about a week ago… we let them in –"

"YOU LET MORE IN!" Camel yells, his voice ringing off the concrete walls. "We had an _agreement!_ Ain't room for one more, Pepe, ain't room for _one_ more! You let a damn _group_ in!" he yells irately, "What did I say, what did I say!"

"Camel, I think it'd be best for you to calm down!" Pepe tries to grab him as I uselessly struggle at my restraints, though ineffectively.

"No, what _you _needa do is stop tryin' ta make this place a bed and breakfast, _sir,"_ Camel emphasizes on sir, being sarcastic. "Ain't no one you won't accept, an' you're a poxy bastard if you think these people'll be any help to ya! They'd just's soon shoot ya and take ya down before they thank ya! Soon as ya know it, they'll be movin' into the damn house with ya!"

"Ain't like that, Camel," Devil says. I'm surprised he is actually defending me. "They had a sick one with them… she was dying, and as my duty as a doctor, I had to help her. Wasn't right to leave them out there at the gate, they were friends of Petey…"

"Back there a damn second, _'Dr_,' Devil," Camel does air quotes when he says "dr." and bobs his head. "First of all, you was a military nurse! Ain't no doctor! And this ain't your say, Ruggedy Andy! People die every day, why didn't you just leave 'em out there! They can fend for their damn selves!"

"I don't believe you're that selfish." Pepe says, still standing beside me while I struggle against the restraints. He puts his hand on my shoulder, and I stop. I trust Pepe. He won't leave me out here like this, even if this Camel guy wants to. This is his property, not this hick's.

"Ain't your say, old man. I keep this place runnin', an' you wanna tell me we got room for more!" he lunges for him, but Devil's strong arm retrains him.

"They are more than welcome to be here, Camel. And it isn't _your_ say. This is my property, and the folks needed medical attention. They were going to starve out there, and I don't believe you have the right to question my motives. You have been with us for ten years, but you do not own anything around here." Pepe says, and I do a silent cheer for him.

Camel paces back and forth, reminding me slightly of Rick. "So, you let 'em in, sure. And then what?"

"And gave the girl medical care." Devil says matter-of-factly.

"Well, what? Been damn near a month I been gone, she ought to be better by now then."

I grit my jaw, and Devil runs his hands together. Pepe pats my shoulder. "She didn't make it." Devil looks down, tilting his head, and then rolling only his eyes up to look at Camel. He chews on his cheek and touches the Toro tucked behind his ear as if to make sure it is still there. He snorts.

"So… tell them it's time ta leave."

"What would you like me to do, Camel? They have _settled _here. I opened up my home to them. What would satisfy you, keeping watch on them at all times and putting them to work? _Espero _has enough room for – _twenty_ more people. And they're kind folk…"

Camel snorts. "That's what they want ya ta think. Turn your back f' two seconds, they're shootin' ya down and takin' over the damn place."

"Ain't like that." I spit at him. "I knew Petey, Pepe's cousin. He told me to go here. So get off your fuckin' high horse, and stop getting' territorial with your mangy _mutts_."

Camel glares at me with the eyes of a dragon, grabbing my face in his large hand, pinching my cheeks in with his thumb and other four fingers. "Girl, you talk back again, I will rip your _sorry_ little ass off so fast that you'll –"

"Camel…" Pepe says, holding his hand out. "None of that on my property."

He takes his hand off of my face and picks up a lock of my straight blonde hair that is falling messily into my face, chuckling. "Feisty, yet pretty…Hmph."

"If you're gonna be two faced, at least make one of 'em pretty." I roll my eyes, drumming my cobalt blue nails on the arm rests of the chair that my wrists are taped to. Camel grinds his teeth and paces off in the other direction. "And my people aren't just stragglers. We've _lost_ people, you local yokel, and we aren't going to lose anymore!" I can see the veins pop out of Camel's forehead as his face turns red, and Devil pretends to wipe his lips with the back of his hand. "Can you let me go now? It's fucking freezing in here."

"You gonna let _that_ roam free?" Camel scuffs the toe of his boot on the floor, his black dog trotting over to him. He pats its head and the Rottweiler pushes his head up on his other hand for attention. Pepe shakes his head and starts to peel away the edge of the tape holding down my left wrist. I lift my arm in front of me to feel the circulation come back into it, then do the same with my right arm out in front of me when it is free as well. Pepe helps me to my feet and ensures that I am alright.

"Camel, I will see you outside while Devil walks Paige inside." Pepe says, and I look up at Devil who is wiping the mud off his boot on the side of the musty wooden doorframe. I hold my elbow as he stands aside the doorway to allow me out first. I fail to look at him as I walk out of the tack room, into the faint light of the night. I can hear Pepe and Camel as we slowly walk back towards the porch lights of the house.

" 'S 'bout time ya stopped lettin' people in, ya see it all turns out the same way. How many crosses ya got on the land now? How many ya buried?"

"I don't believe this is any of your business. This is my property, and I appreciate everything that you do for _Espero._ You keep the fields and orchards running. But the business of my visitors is none of yours…"

"Sure, old man… sooner or later, this is all gonna backfire on ya. An' Imma be the one with the last laugh." I hear him spit, then the voices become mumbles and murmurs as we become slowly closer to the house and farther away from the stable and tack room.

"Did he touch you?" Devil finally says, his voice coming out of the darkness like a phantom.

"No." I say, still rubbing my elbow. "I banged my elbow on the floor when he threw me down."

He nods, though I can only see his silhouette. He grinds his jaw and his chin juts out even more than it does. All he needs is one of those big hats to look just like the Crocodile Hunter, or a man from down under. Not to mention I am at least a foot and a half shorter than him. "I'll have Tidan look at your elbow. I'm going to go check on the orchards… dogs like to take a shit out there, if you know what I mean."

I nod, things still strange between us. In the light of the porch, I can see that his eye is still bruised, better than I could see in the lanterns of the dank tack room. He has a blotted, reddish bruise on the side of his temple as well, above his top lip is a scab of where his nose bled onto his shirt after I hit him. Devil opens the door for me and we both step into the parlor of the old house.

"Paige," Lori says, automatically glaring at Devil. "Where has she been, she has been gone for hours."

"It's alright… she had a little run-in with Pepe's landscaper. He's been out for a month, she's alright, miss." He reassures, putting on his charm to calm her down. I've noticed that he tries to be his most polite when people are stressed. He ain't no dummy. "I'll just have Tidan look at her, and I'll fill you in later." Says Devil, clearing his throat as T-Dog's dark eyebrows furrow together. I am glad that Rick doesn't seem to be here, because I still have a few _"things"_ to say to him.

"Paige…" Lori questions, but I shake my head.

"I'm fine, just banged up. I'll talk to you in a minute." I reassure her, letting Devil lead me into the white medical room. Now that the adrenaline has run its course in my body, my elbow is throbbing with pain.

"Wait here," Devil says, and I sit on the metal table that rolls. It seems strange, the last time I was in here was when Beth… I let my own thoughts trail off. It is hard to think about Beth. Who could blame me? It is the same with Petey. Hard to think about him, but hard not to. The way his dark cheeks had dimples when he smiled, how he always tried to lighten the mood. And the only reason I force myself to think of him is so I will not forget him. The same with Beth. But along with the nice images, come the gruesome ones, and those are what make me so disconnected. But memories are like a drug to me. All that I live on anymore.

"Hey," I am woken from my musing at the sound of Tidan's voice. I look up, noticing that I am swinging my legs against the legs of the table, and my hair has fallen into my face. It feels strange to not be wearing my hat – I think it may have flew off my head when I was running from Camel's two mutts. "You alright?"

"I'm still up." I roll my eyes. Why does it have to be Tidan looking after my injuries, anyone else would have been fine. Where is Alexa when you need her? I wonder if her head is alright. She hit it pretty hard when…

"Can you unbend your arm?" I try to hold my arm out in front of me, but zaps of pain ring through my hand all the way up to my shoulder. He nods and gently presses his curved fingers into my elbow. I wince and pull away from him. "Easy, easy… I'm not trying to hurt you."

I let him prod gently at my elbow again. "You hit it on something?" I nod. "God, no one should have a run in with Camel like that… not right. Not even sure he's sane himself…"

I look up at him as he starts to shake one of those break-n-shake icepacks that come in the first aid kits. "I thought that all the people I met were the only ones here."

"They are… you met them all, 'cept Camel. He's the landscaper for Pepe's property. You know anything about preppers, Paige?"

"'Bout as much as I know about lip gloss and eye shadow." I roll my eyes. "Go on,"

He chuckles as he shakes the icepack to make it cold. I remember trying to use one of those once, I could never get it to work. "Well, they recruit people early. You know, like people to take care of other stuff during the end of the world so they don't have to take care of everything on their own. Shepherds, apothecaries. Stuff like that. Well, Pepe has been prepping ever since before his son was born, and that's damn near sixteen years ago. Hold this here." he directs me to hold the ice pack on my elbow and rummages in a drawer, clearing his throat. "Sorry if I get this wrong, Mya told me all this… but he recruited her as the food and supplies manager, and him as the landscaper. He takes care of the orchards and all that, and making sure everything stays alright in the fields and all the land and that stuff… how's this feel?" he asks, patting my shoulder as I rub my elbow after removing the icepack.

"Numb now. So, continue." I say as he makes my elbow bent again and starts to wrap it in a brown bandage.

"Mm, oh yeah. So, he hired Camel to take care of all that. But he's an irritable man… doesn't like others in his domain."

He reminds me of Daryl. Especially the way that he talks, and how he won't let anyone into his space. I don't blame him. "So, his name is _Camel?_ Where do Ponyboy and Sodapop stay?"

He chuckles and pats my elbow gently, which is now wrapped in the bandage and still feels slightly numb. "Camel is his nickname… not his real name, his real name is Scott Nicorette. He used to smoke Camel cigs, and Pepe told him he should stop smoking cigarettes. So, plainly, he started smoking cigars."

I actually laugh slightly, but laughing hurts too much so I stop. "So, he's a smartass."

Tidan shrugs, and I hop down from the table. "Sorry he sicked his dogs on you. He doesn't really like newcomers. He thinks that we shouldn't let others in because we don't have enough room. We have at least three more rooms in the bunker, but he just – wants to be selfish. Don't get bothered by him."

"He thinks we should leave."

"Well, if it's any connotation, I don't. I know you've all seen a lot out there, and I know how you feel. I was out there too, but I was alone."

"Yeah," I nod once. "I was too. I'd only just found Rick and his group."

He looks down, his dark hair falling in a triangle on his forehead as it always does. I wonder how old he is, because his face looks young, but be is growing a slightly uneven graze of scruff on his cheeks. "We all have our stories."

"Some end better than others." I say curtly before I exit the room, leaving him there. Carol and Lori are waiting for me when I enter the kitchen. I look at the large clock. It's about eleven o'clock at night. T-Dog is still leaned against the counter by the coffeepot.

"What the hell was that?" Lori demands, pulling me by the arm. "Where were you, what happened?"

"Let go of me." I roll my eyes. I really hate nothing more than when people bombard me. And they have been lately. Whatever happened after Beth… it wasn't myself, and everyone has been trying to keep me in their sight since. "I'm fine, I didn't do this to myself, if that's what you think."

"That isn't what we think at all. Paige, please. You've been going nonstop for the past couple of days. Running around, staying with Beth. Why don't you go rest?" Carol says with concern in her voice, also layered with annoyance. Well, I don't care if they think of me as a burden on them. _Espero _ is big enough that I can get away when I want to.

"I don't give a damn what you think anyway. I'm going to the bunkers, if you wanna babysit me there, be my guest." I say shortly, brushing past them. I don't have time for Lori and Carol. I need to talk to Rick. I've been meaning to ever since the funeral. I pace outside, swinging my good arm for the time being, letting the other one hang aimlessly with the slight bend that the hardened bandage supplies. It is completely dark now, and the stars dot the sky; which is strange, because it is usually quite cloudy at night.

The bunkers are nearly silent, and I find Vicki sprawled out on the electric room sofa, sound asleep. I take the liberty of covering her up with the blanket laying on the floor because she is shivering, and then I check in each room to make sure everyone is asleep. Carl is turned toward the wall in his bed, his back facing me, and I suspect he is already asleep. His hat is set aside on the floor, and his clothes leave a trail to where he undressed and got into his pajamas that are too big for him. I close the door and check in the other rooms. Hershel is sound asleep, the sounds of his muffled snores echoing on the concrete block walls. I cover him up with another blanket and leave him to sleep. In the room across from his, Glenn is asleep with Maggie's head on his arm in an uncomfortable position. It doesn't matter because he is asleep, so I close the door again and go to the showers.

I leave my clothes in a pile on the cold tile outside of the shower and let my hair down, swaying across my back. Hanging my bra and fresh underwear on the hook outside the shower, I stare at myself in the full length mirror that is already fogging up from the running shower. I am pale, and covered in gooseflesh; my hair is parted in a zig-zag, unevenly dispersed on each side as it always is, so that isn't different. My cheeks used to be fuller – I can remember that much about what I used to look like. Now they are sallow, and I can trace my cheekbones without sucking in my cheeks, and my chin is also more prominent. I run my pinky over my lips that are dry and cracked. I don't really pay attention to those because I don't really have a use for those.

I can count each of my ribs. Even Mya's meals haven't helped me gain back much weight. I used to a hundred and six, but now I ain't so sure. Maybe about ninety or so. I've always been pretty skinny, living off whatever my father dragged home when he was sober. With my parents being divorced and all, I was left with dad almost year round, and went to live with my mom in the summer. Mom's was paradise to me. She lived in Florida, and she had a pool, with a big screen net over it so the bugs couldn't get you if you swam at night. It was always really hot, even at night, and I remember floating on the blow-up pool bed at night, staring up at the stars. Those were my favorite times, summertime at my mom's. And then she met Brian, and everything changed. She was going off on vacations with him over the summer, gallivanting off in Greece, or Kenya, or wherever her and her new husband wanted to go, leaving me with my drunkass father who figured I could fend for myself. But I thank my mother for that today, in some sick way, because if she hadn't forced me to harden up with my daddy, I wouldn't be who I am today. I probably wouldn't have even had the gumption to survive.

Running my hand over my flat stomach, I can hear a gurgle of hunger. The last thing I ate was that fruit in the orchard a few hours ago. I shrug off the hunger and trace the scars on my arms. Most of them are from the backlash of a bowstring, or the kick of my gun, but I got used to it. My shoulder is pretty stiff from my rifle as well, but that was just another thing I had to grow accustomed to. Sometimes you gotta do things you're uncomfortable with at first, but those are usually the things that become second nature to you.

Even as I stare into my own eyes, they don't look the same. They were a deep, chocolate brown color before the apocalypse. Now they are vicious, malevolent. More shrewd, like I could take out a human being, and that scares me, so I stop looking into my eyes. Instead, I stare at my breasts. I have always been pretty full in that area, but now that I have lost weight, they seem to be a little smaller. I've noticed more room in my bra lately. But that doesn't bother me, because again, I will never have a use for them. They could shrivel up and wither away, for all I care, I wouldn't miss them. I doubt I would even notice, they are just there.

Being fed up with the sight of myself that isn't really myself, I tear away from the mirror and slink into the shower. I wash with the usual soap that is in here, a bar of green and white marble soap and average shampoo and conditioner. Letting the water gush over my back, I groan with satisfaction. One can never fully appreciate the beauty of a shower until they haven't taken a real one in months. Bathing in the river or stopping at a puddle to slick your hair back just doesn't cut it. And when you go days with your hairline receding with dirt and greasy locks, it feels like a gift to be clean for once. I wash every speck of dirt off of my body and even decide to shave my legs. After I dress in only my underwear, I search for razors and finally find standard orange and white ones in a cabinet. I put each leg up on the toilet and shave them. I cut myself a few times, but I dab the slits with toilet paper until they stop bleeding and pull my nightshirt over my head. It is the same gown I dressed in the first night I came here, so I figure it must be mine now that no one has claimed it. My skin is still wet under it, and it feels uncomfortable, but I pull on a pair of socks and comb through my hair, letting it fall wet over my shoulder. It always looks curly when it is wet. It makes me look younger, mom always said, but I always preferred it straight.

The bunker still looks deserted, and I try to be quiet as I slip into bed, even though every step I take sounds like a plane crashing on the highway. The bed creaking sounds like a million screams in a horror film, but I finally settle down. But sleep won't come.

I sit at the side of my bed and pull on the pair of red Converse that I swiped from the WalMart we ransacked. They feel taut and stiff against my feet, but only because they are new. In the backwash county where I used to live with Dad, I wore suckers like these out like no other. We all used to, the kids that lived down there. We wore 'em until they fell apart off our feet. This pair will do for a while, and will make do for extras when my boots are wet, which happens to be a lot more often now that we are in rain country.

When my shoes are laced up, I stand and walk a couple of steps to start the stretching of the canvas. They actually aren't too bad, because they aren't the kind that come up over my ankles. They remind me of Beth, as I stare down at them. I wonder where Maggie put her green ones. They might be under her bed, along with her bag, and the nail polish that I safely tucked away again. In the dim light, I hold up my hands to inspect my cobalt blue nails. It is strange to see the unbefitting splash of color, but I sort of like it. I decide that it is my new favorite color. It sort of fits me, however I have never been the kind of girl to paint nails. But maybe I am not the same girl anymore.

Trying to be silent, I close the lead door to the bunker, trying to ease it back into place, but it squeaks anyway. Figures. I trot out onto the large lawn and stare up at the stars. I can see the constellations my grand dad showed me how to find. Orion, Cassiopeia, Leo, Lupus. There once was a time when I knew them all. The moon looms over me like a phantasm specter, watching me. I don't care if it sees where I go. It isn't like it can call out to anyone. And I won't go far. I never go far.

The ground squishes under my feet as I pass the stables, and eventually pass the orchard, where I wander in the dark until I find my hat on the ground, overcasted by silver moonlight. I head out into the field that sways with the night breeze. This is as far as I have gone on the property. I can see the faint shadows of the tower that sits in the north-east corner of the property. The grass is about a little past my knees, and it is just right. I sit down crisscross and bury my head in my hands. I really miss Tennessee. It ain't what it used to be now, I know that damn straight. But I miss the way it used to be. I didn't spend a whole lot of time at home, but I spent a lot of time hanging out by myself. _By myself_, the words ring in my head. Oh, the feelings of _by myself._ Sometimes I would sit at the end of the dock with my feet in the water, letting the minnows nibble at my toes. I did a lot of thinking there, at my little dock. And then, weird shit started to happen. My daddy showed up at the creek-side, grabbing me and dragging me home.

"What're you draggin' me for?" I questioned, scowling at the man. I never liked him, but being seventeen at the time, he was still legally in charge of me. I had planned to find my own place in the world the second I turned eighteen, but obviously, I couldn't ever get around to it.

"Time ta leave," my daddy said, that crazed look in his golden eyes. "World ain't safe, we gotta leave?"

"You're drunk," I pulled away from him, glaring. "Leggo of me."

"We needa get outa here, Paige. You gonna have ta trust me on this, now. Ya can smell ma breath, darlin', I ain't foolin' ya."

"Get off." I pushed him. "Leave me alone!"

He had driven off, anger in his eyes, as he always did.

I realize that tears stream down my cheeks, my wet hair hanging over my face as I wrap my arms around my knees. My sobs are louder than I ever wanted them to be. But I don't care. Who will hear me out here? That is why I came here, farther out than I've ever been. I bury my face in my knees and sob for what seems like forever. Then, I force myself up, feeling the urge to move again. Restlessness is an old, unfortunate friend. I spent plenty of nights that I should have been sleeping roaming the woods, feeling that need to run. So, I do. I run past the bunkers again, and then past the house. Down the long, spiraling road that we drove down to get here. I run until my feet are on fire and the gate blocks my path. And then, I think about running away again. Leaving _Espero, _leaving _hope. _If there really is hope here at all. If there is, I sure as hell haven't come across it yet.

I take off my shoes and socks and tie the laces together, carrying them like they are two cherries on a connected stem. I am used to bare feet. When I am trying to be quiet in the woods, I will often take them off, so the worn-down gravel don't bother the soles at all. The soft grass is a nice change, though. My toes squish in the sod as I walk in the purple darkness to the scarlet oak tree. I sit beside the cross and stretch out my legs. I sit like this for a while before I take a deep breath and speak.

"The people who are gone… then always seem to have all the answers, don't they…" I sigh, leaning against eh bark of the tree. "You'd know what to do… I know you would. Hell, you'd be painting my damn nails while you told me exactly the right thing, what to say…"

I rub my forehead slightly, pushing up my hair and letting my hat fall backwards on my neck. "I don't know what the hell to do, where the hell to go. I don't really got anywhere, Bethie… not anywhere to go. I thought maybe I'd belong here, huh? But it just doesn't… feel like I do, you know the feeling?"

The wind blows.

"Yeah, I bet you don't. You always got Maggie… and your daddy. I ain't never had my daddy around." I'm surprised my child-like horrible-grammar voice comes out. I wonder why. It just happens to pop out every now and then, when I am feeling certain things, when I am – "I'm at the end of my rope, honey… I just… don't know anymore. Where do I go, where do I find answers? I know it's cliché, but I just don't know who I am anymore. I looked in the mirror today, and I knew, that girl ain't me… she was some other girl, and I didn't like that girl."

I sigh and tap my blue fingernails on the cross. "I guess we'll both know in good time, then… and I'll have to decide where I wanna be. Maybe next I'll head off to North Carolina next, and then maybe off to Virginia. I donno… I just don't feel like I belong here… Petey, his cousin… he's great, man… and I can tell he wants me to stay here. And Beth, you woulda liked this place. It's a beaut." I pat the cross once again and rise to my bare feet, heading off towards the bunkers again. I suddenly feel exhausted as I sink into the bed. _My _own bed. And this is my room. My home. But maybe I might be better off by myself.

"Morning," T-Dog grumbles as I pass him in the kitchen. He is drinking coffee as he always is in the morning. I nod once at him, and his dark eyes follow me as I walk into the parlor, my still slightly damp red canvas shoes squeaking on the hardwood floor. I find Carl drawing in a notebook with a Bic pen.

"Hey," he looks up at me for a moment, and goes back to drawing. "What's up?"

"Nothin', whatcha drawing?" I smile, patting the top of his hat. He holds up a picture of a boxy robot.

"Not very good." He shrugs, then goes back to sketching with the pen.

"No, no, this is good. You should start drawing pictures of people, those are so much easier. At least I think. So, Carl, you know where your dad is?"

He nods. "Out by the fence with Pepe and Tidan. They needed to patch up something, and Pepe asked for Dad's help. Why?"

"I needed to talk to him. Never mind." I ruffle his hair, and on my way out, I mumble. "Try drawing a portrait, Carl Man, you might surprise yourself."

The sun is shining today, there are no clouds but a few puffy white ones that dot the maritime of blue. It is oddly calm today, but I guess not so odd. There is always a blue sky after a storm, and it has been raining for the past few days. And it is pleasantly warm again, maybe close to eighty. Tidan told me it isn't usually like this, because of the cooler winter breezes that flutter by here, but it feels more like a windy summer, with slight chills. All the same, I leave my jacket inside and go with a t-shirt I've had since I was in Tennessee. It's a plain gray shirt, which cuts off at the elbows. The starch from the clothing line is a little too stiff to my liking, but one can't be too choosy these days.

I make my way out to the fence where Pepe, Rick, and Tidan are. They seem to be talking about the electric fence that is about three hundred yards away from the wooden fence that they are leaning on. There are a few of the horses in the distance, grazing happily in the tall grasses where I sat last night. Many cows also graze amongst the equestrian animals, along with a few fat goats. I stay a healthy distance away from the three of them, only standing close enough for them to notice me. Tidan is dressed in a t-shirt as well as I am, but it is looser and has a collar that curls up slightly. He wears a beat-up looking cowboy hat that seems a little unbefitting on him. I pat my own hat down as Pepe clears his throat, rubbing his 'stache as he smiles at me.

_"Hola,_ _oso gomoso._ Is there something that you need?" he smiles, his mustaches corner to corner on his cheeks, crow's feet forming at his eyes.

"I needa talk to Rick." I scuff my toe on the sodden ground as a tan horse with a larger-than-life body sticks its head over the fence and snorts through its sunburnt, spotted pink nose. Tidan gently pats its snout and takes his hat off, ruffling his hair and then returning it. I can see his muscles press against the fabric of his shirt as he huffs a breath, feeding the horse a few weeds it can't reach on the opposite side of the fence. "Can I borrow him for a sec?"

"_Por supuesto, _Rick…" he clears his throat. "Tidan, let's go get those sacks of cornmeal out from the tack room and put them in the cellar."

Tidan nods, following him to the stable. I wait until they have disappeared before I begin talking.

"You got a lotta explaining to do." I say, crossing my arms and staring down at the toes of my new Converse, which look way too white. "You best start."

Rick leans on the wooden fence and clears his throat, snuffling and rubbing his hand down his face. It really bugs the shit out of me when people don't say anything when I talk to them. I'm only five and a half feet tall and probably a hundred pounds if I lean real hard on one foot. I can't be that intimidating. But maybe it's the way I say things. Someone once told me I was edgy. The woman I once used to know, Emily Ross. She was a mutual friend of my aunt before we starting apocalypsin'. I always liked her, the way that she held herself, the way that she could act so professional and then bunker down and drink a keg of whiskey. But she always told me the honest truth, and once when I was yelling, she told me it wasn't the things I said, it was the way I said them. It made me like her even more. I wonder if Em ever got out of Tennessee. I hope she did. I'd be sad to see her as a rotty.

"Well, ain't ya gonna say anything?" my bad grammar comes out again, the voice I used to talk in when I was getting drunk by the creek. "You've got a lot of talking to do."

"Paige…" he sighs, his tired voice coming out a mere whisper. "What do you wanna –"

"I wanna know everything. I wanna know why you kept all this shit from me, an' I don't want a shit crack-pipe story of how you didn't trust me or whatnot, because if you wanna talk about trust, you go ahead and spit in my face, because I didn't trust you neither!" I whirl around at him. "Why did Beth turn, and I wanna know. Tell the truth, Rick."

"It's complicated." He sighs, rubbing his scruffly face again. "Really, Paige, if you'd just calm down,"

"I'm calm. I can be calm, damn it! I'd be calmer if you'd just – fucking spit it out! We checked her for bites, least three times! Hell on earth, Rick, she wasn't bitten! Not even a scratch! I made _sure_ that not one walker _touched_ her or your boy. I made _sure._ And I'm standin' there like a fucking _idiot, _waving my gun around and shooting at _Beth, _who all the sudden just fucking _woke_ from death. That ain't right, Rick, that just _ain't right. _Tell me what you're keepin' from me."

He looks up at my demanding tone. Emily was right. It _is _how I talk. It must make people uncomfortable, intimidate them or something. "Keep an open mind about this… you listen to me, Paige," he grabs my shoulder, anger in his deep blue eyes that match Carl's. "We went to the CDC, seeking refuge… food, shelter. And we found it there, for a short period of time. The man there, Jenner. He was the only one left, and when the generators started shutting down…" he rubs his thumb and other four fingers on his temples. "We had to get out of there. And before we did, he told me something key, he told me that everyone is – infected. Everyone has the walker virus, Paige. Not just the ones bitten, scratched. Everyone."

I let his words sink in, then speak up. "So, you and me… if I die, I'll turn?"

"If anyone dies, they'll turn."

I stare out into the sun, and after a while of that, whenever I blink I stare at the white splotches in my vision that are like the sudden flash of a camera. "If anyone dies they'll…" I sink against the fence. "Fuck, fuck, fuck…"

He stands still above me, rubbing his forehead. "I didn't mean to keep it from you – hell, I didn't mean to keep it from _anyone –"_

"You've said enough." I say, pushing the heels of my hands into my eyes. "Pointin' _Daryl's_ gun at her head, none-the -less… _fuck." _I bury my head in my hands, and I close my eyes to see. The abyss of great darkness seems to be my friend these days, that spiraling, dismal place where I go to feel something again. I let myself go to that place, blocking out the sun, blocking out the swaying fields and orchards around me, the sounds of the horse whinnying in the distance, the goats bleating. I block out all light for however long I need, and then open my eyes to Rick still standing over me. I rise to my feet, feeling so shaky that I have to point my finger at him and push it against his hard chest. He pushes it away, but I don't care.

"Come to think about it, where _is_ my gun, Rick? And my knife? Where did you happen to put them?"

"They're off for safe keeping. We're not going to touch them. We thought it best for the group if –"

"Group? Rick, this ain't no group! I hate to fuck your bubble, but this is – some sick _form_ of a group! We're waltzing with the Devil here, if you wanna sit around here with your wife and son and play house!"

"YOU LED US HERE!" Rick yells, his brows lurching together as he gets angry, jabbing his finger at me this time. "You just got a _problem_ with everywhere else? Is nowhere good enough for you! Maybe that's your dilemma, Paige! You don't _want_ stability! You want to roam around like a wild animal, aimlessly walking around the earth until you kill every walker to your satisfaction! Well, if that's a lifestyle to you, then let it be! But you are _not_ the leader of this group. No matter how hard you try, you are not the leader! And these are not your people, they are mine! I look out for them, and if you would like us to have your back, don't make life hell when we're trying to create a stable environment!"

I stare at him, making a face before I speak again. "You don't know the meaning of being a leader – what the hell is wrong with you, you hypocritical bastard of a –"

"NO!" he yells, his voice surprisingly full of authority. "For once in your life, Paige Swift, just _think! _Don't talk. _Think. _I am the leader of these people, and they look to me. They don't need any leadership from a misguided woman who can't keep her sanity. Look, Paige – Lori's pregnant, and we're – desperate. We gotta stay here, we – we _need _this stability."

I stare at him for a second. "Don't expect me to follow you, Rick." I swallow heavily, licking my front teeth. "Expect me to respect your decisions, but I can make my own."

I turn around to see Tidan smiling, making his way back to the fence. "You two need anything? Everything alright?" obviously the little shithead didn't hear any of the yelling. No wonder, the walls of the tack room are so concrete, they are most likely soundproof, inside and out.

"Just peachy." I push past him, knocking him in the shoulder as I do so.

"Here, let me help you with that." I take the large basket of laundry from Maggie that she is struggling with. Her arms shake with the weight I have lifted out of them, and she brushes her hands off when I set the basket by the clothesline that is strung between two large trees. She probably shouldn't be doing much hard work, especially considering that she just lost her sister. I can understand how it feels to lose someone. I know how it is. But Maggie isn't alone like I was.

"Thanks." She wipes her hands on her capris. "Everyone's been followin' me around like lost puppies."

"Well, don't mind me. I'll just do this laundry, and you can go inside and wash up." I hold up a large sheet, one I recognize as the kind that the bunkers are supplied with. The gray, black, and navy blue print.

"It's fine." She says, though her hands are shaking as she struggles to pick up a pair of Glenn's boxers and hang them up on the line. She drops them back in the basket and pushes her short hair back.

"You need some rest." I pat the small of her back. "Go and take a nap or something, get a bite to eat. I'll get the laundry. You don't have to do this, you know."

She gives me a solemn smile that is really only a small tug of her lips, and touches my shoulder before making her way back to the bunkers. I clamp a few clothespins in between my teeth and pick up Glenn's clean, still-damp boxers, and hang them on the line. They flap and flutter in the breeze, and soon, I have the sheets up on the line as well as the clothes that have been washed recently. Some of them are Vicki's clothes, all girly prints and shirts with band logos, like _Falling in Reverse_, and _Green Day. _I never really was a fan of music, really. Whatever I could hum was good enough for me since I spent most of my time alone. But I've not been in the humming mood for quite some time now.

"Thinkin' 'bout hookin' up?"

I jump at the voice, and peer around the fluttering sheets. Eerily, I don't see anyone, so I make my way all the way around the clothes line, No one is there, so I go back to the other side again, startling at Camel who is standing beside the basket that is half full of clothes, smoking one of his Toros. "What the hell do you want?"

He nods once, clamping his cigar in between his teeth. "Those're Tidan's drawers." I look down at the pair of soggy underwear in my hand and my cheeks burn pink. He laughs.

"Something other than that you want? Possibly to sick your ugly mutts on me, or chase me off the property?"

"What, Jaws and BobbyJo? They ain't gon' harm no one. Lotsa bigger things to worry about these days, don't you think, girl?"

I roll my eyes, hanging Tidan's underwear next to Glenn's. "Why don't you go talk to the crickets, maybe they'll listen."

Camel scratches his chin and belches. "Aw, girl… 'mon now… let's not hold no grudges."

"Whatever." I lick my dry lips and hang up a pair of jeans. "I don't have much likin' to you, Camel, so why don't you go on and bother someone else."

He chuckles and leans against one of the trees that stabilizes the thick line. "Ain't you a doozy… you must make some man real proud, that damn mouth of yours. That boy with the arrows, he your Cupid?"

I literally make a gag face. "Not in a million years." Camel reminds me too much of Daryl already. The similarities are repellent. The way they talk, the way they walk, wipe their nose with the back of their hand. They could be related. But Daryl at least might have a little soul in him. This man, Camel, he's just no-good, rotten, sour-as-milk whitetrash. Which reminds me, I haven't seen much of Daryl lately. I wonder where he has sulked off to. Maybe somewhere to make more arrows, though I know we haven't seen action in days. He probably has a good three left. "I'm trying to do a "lady job", so if you wouldn't mind, I don't much appreciate people staring me down while I try to hang bras and underwear up."

He takes a long drawl on his cigar. "You seem like a pretty smart girl…"

"Get out of here." I scowl at him. "Stop creepin', and go bother someone else. Better yet, go cow tippin' for all I give a damn, just get out of here." It makes me pretty uncomfortable with hi hovering over me like this with his smoke rings hovering in the air around his face. The sleeves are ripped over his shirt, and when I say ripped, I mean that it was most likely a long-sleeved button up at one point, but the sleeves have been unevenly tugged off. "I don't need you stinking up the clean laundry with your smoke."

Just against my wishes, he blows a particularly large amount of cigar mist out of his mouth. "Sorry."

"Gonna tell me what you want?" I shake out a wrinkled blue shirt that looks like it belongs to Carol and hang it up, my voice muffled with the clothespins in my mouth.

"Oh, yeah… I was sayin', you a smart little rascal, ain't ya…"

"If this is going to turn into a rape, do it fast, because I really don't have the energy to fight you."

He looks a little surprised, shaking his head. His dark hair flops from side to side as he does. "That really what you think of me?"

"You left me with a real great first impression." I roll my eyes. "What do you want."

He hmphs and rubs the back of his neck. "I heard you an' Rick arguin' earlier like a couple a magpies, quarreling in the damn trees… heard ya say something about bein' infected."

I suck in my breath. "Whatever."

"There are lotsa things you don't know, Paige… lotsa things. And strange things happen here. _Espero_ may seem like an innocent little bitch of a place, but it ain't."

I narrow my eyebrows. "What do you mean…"

"You might wanna check the smokehouse later, an' you didn't hear nothin' from me, girl." Camel blows a long puff of smoke in my direction, turning to stalk back towards the stables. He turns half way around before he is not in earshot. "And it ain't no shit that I don't want any a ya here. I wouldn't be too sorry if I ran your little ass right off the property, all the way ta Hell for all I give a damn. Pull that fuckin' cob outa your ass, might do ya good in life."

The rest of the day, I spend pacing at the wooden fence, staring out at the tiny building that is the smokehouse. Part of me feels as if Camel is just trying to scare me away with bullshit stories, but the other part of me is curious. After pacing until nightfall, I lace up my shoes tight and start out towards the bitty smokehouse as nightfall covers my shadow. The sun is almost entirely set as I stalk out in the weeds, pulling burs out of my shirt as I struggle through the dark. After stomping in the mud a few times and covering my pants in water and mud splatter up to my knees, but with a few muttered swear words, I get past it.

There is a small dirt path off of the overgrown field, and I follow it to the small, dark smokehouse. It has boarded up windows with no lights squeezing out through the boards, but there is a rusty deadlock on the door. I pick up the bolt, and it basically falls apart in my hands. It's been here a while, and is basically all lime and rust. The pieces crumble and leave brown stains on my hand, and I make a face and let the corroded clump fall to the ground with a thump. I pull at the handle on the door, but it is dead bolted. Knowing I am wasting my time, I start back towards the field, Camel has bullshitted me, probably because he really wants me duct taped to a chair. Then, I notice the small window on the side that is not boarded up. Maybe curiosity killed the cat, but I pull up on it, and it opens. I climb into the small room.

I am in a small room that looks like an office. There is an extremely cluttered desk with so many papers on it that the surface isn't even visible. I shuffle my feet on the floor and pick up one of the many yellowed papers cluttering the floor. I hold it close to my nose as my eyes adjust to the dark.

_**CDC LOOKS FOR CURE, OUTBREAK IN NEW YORK**_

__The headline reads on the old, crinkled paper. I toss it aside. I remember all of the papers, I received enough of them myself. I never believed any of the "stories" until I saw one of them for myself.

I stayed at the dock for a few nights. I didn't want to go home, knowing my father was probably off drinking, which meant he would be home soon enough to yell shit at me. While I fished at the side of the creek, I saw a few figures wandering in the backwoods, not too far from my range of sight.

"Hey!" I called, waving. "Over here!"

When there was no answer, I jumped down into the water with my muckers on, and waded to the other side to greet them. Usually, the people that wander through here are either people I know, neighbors, or people that are lost. I stomped off my boots into the woods and called to them again.

"Hey, you guys, you lost?" when there was no answer, I noticed that they only looked up at me when I yelled, and something was – off. They were seemingly limping, kind of, and they were a little messy. Then, I saw their faces. One was a woman, one a man, their faces looking sunken in, lips chapped and bloody, gums blackened and grotesque. The woman grabbed for me, a high pitched whine escaping her drooping lips. I suddenly knew something jacked up was going on, so I ran. They followed me, so I did the only thing I could think of. I picked up a blunt stick and whacked them.

I push a few papers aside as I make my way to the next door. The knob is cold, and my palm is sweaty as I turn it, opening the door with a slight squeak noise. The only light in the next room is one of the gas lanterns that are placed around the property. It glows eerily at the end of the dark corridor, and I take a deep breath and step into the darkness that leads to the only glowing light. I'm not really afraid of anything. I never have been, growing up with my father as a dad. But something just doesn't feel right here. it is almost completely silent, other than the slight hum of the hanging lantern. When I am about half way down the hall, I pause and take a deep breath.

"Gaar, ROOOOOOW!" I scream as a hang comes out of nowhere, grabbing at my hair. I have no idea what is happening, but something is yanking my head against the wall. I realize that my head is being slammed against cage bars, like a prison cell over and over again. I scream as the raggedy hand pulls at the roots of my hair, pulling my hat into the cell along with whatever lives in it. I push away with my hand on one of the bars, trying to catch my breath. The hand pulls me back against the bars.

_"He-elp. Help." _The dank whisper comes, and then "Hrrrrs! ROOW! GTT!"

I yank away, panting against the opposite wall, but another hand grabs for me as I realize that it is another wall of bars. I scream again, trying to pull myself away as the pair of rough, benumbed hands hold onto my hand. "Get off, GET OFF, _GET OFF!" _I scream, a sob in my voice as my voice goes up a few octaves. I finally break free, turning to run towards the lantern and sob my eyes out. Instead, I bump into a tepid, broad chest that huffs a quick breath as I look up.

"How'd you get in here?"

_**Sorry that update took so long! Please R & R please!**_

_**Oh, and please take a look at Rainbowteeth8's story, and hayleyjune13's story! They are both Walking Dead, and if you like this one, you will surely enjoy them both!**_


	8. Eight: All the Devils are Here

**Shorter update now! Yay! Don't forget to check out the soundtrack on my profile, and if you have suggestions, or want to pm me, I am very friendly! :D**

Eight: Hell is Empty, and all the Devils are Here

The syringe in his hand scares the fuck out of me. What the hell is he doing with _that_? In the dim glow of the single lantern hanging by a rusty nail, I can see that it is a dark liquid, one I definitely couldn't identify, even if I hadn't failed my chemistry class, way back when I was in high school. I back away, but I realize that the only way I can turn is back towards the dark corridor. Hell.

"G-get the hell away from me." I stammer, putting up my fists.

"It isn't what you think." Devil raises his left hand in surrender, still handling the syringe in the other. His eyes seem to glow in the dark, like those glow sticks I used to bring out in the woods when I was getting drunk with a few people.

"To _hell_ it's not." I say hoarsely, cautiously looking over my shoulder at the darkness. The ghastly arms have retreated back into their cages, or cells, or whatever they are. I don't even know what is in there, but I can guess. "What the fuck are you _doing_ in here."

"Paige, I'm not –"

I narrow my eyes at him, my voice beginning to break. Saliva sticks in my throat, and a few beads of sweat form at my forehead like droplets of rain clinging to a window. Devil slowly lowers the syringe onto a table that I hadn't noticed before that has a few vials on it as well, all with different colored liquids. I make note of each of them; the black one he sets down, another that is a lighter red, and a few others that range in a few pinkish colors. I look up at him again, my hair falling in my face. It is askew from the recent pulling. My roots feel like they were sucked up by a vacuum cleaner.

"Please don't try anything." Devil says, desperation in his voice as he tries to speak calmly. He knows damn well that I could blow up. But oddly, I feel pretty calm, other than the bubbling anger in the back of my mind, but the other part of me is curiosity. "Paige, we – we have to _help_ these things. _I _have to help these things. We need a cure."

Suddenly, I put everything together. One plus one makes two. I rub the back of my neck where the grisly pair of hands had touched, then wrap my hand around my wrist where the other's had wrapped around. Trying to pull me in. Rotten hands. Walkers. Suddenly, I push Devil away by his firm chest, feeling the anger boil up again. "You're on a fucking _farm, _you idiot! What the hell are you going to do, cure them with peach juice and horse shit?!" my lip trembles like I'm a two year old, but I really don't care right now. With my yelling, the two rotten prisoners in the barred rooms make louder noises, more like yelling than anything else, and I realize why they are kept in this building. No one can hear them. I took a hell of a walk just to get out here.

"No, Paige. It's much more than that. Please. Come with me, I'll show you."

"I'm not going _anywhere_ with you." I scrunch my nose up and narrow my eyes, feeling my thumbs curl under my fingers.

"Alright, then we can have this conversation here. But you're not leaving. Not now." He pulls out a chair that is slightly old and dusty, holding it out for me. I look down at the floor that is dirt-ridden and then at the gun tucked in Devil's pants. I sit down slowly, the chair creaking with my weight, and he turns a lever on the gas lantern that opens up the light so it floods at least half the room. I notice that it is bigger than I first anticipated. Maybe about the size of three or four of the bunk rooms in the cabins. The hooks hanging from the ceiling are rusty, and sort of swing side to side eerily as if by some ghost, but they look harmless enough. None of them have curing meat, and it's apparent that no meat has been smoked in this so-called "smokehouse" in maybe ten years or so. The smell of jerky and cured meats still hangs in the air, but it isn't as strong as the scent of the dead. Rotting bodies.

"Let me leave." I interject, my tongue tracing over my slightly crooked bottom row of teeth, then finding the side of my cheek.

"You can't."

"You're already the Devil, let's just add psycho zombie-groomer to the list." I roll my eyes, glaring up at him. He rubs his chin, the scruff making a slight noise like sandpaper on flesh. It's been a while since he's shaved, I can tell. "Are you and Alexa partners in crime in this? Are you like Bonnie and Clyde?"

He looks up into the corner of the room like the cobwebs are suddenly so interesting, then his voice spills out muffled. "No… she knows about it, but – she leaves it to me, mostly. We all contribute."

"Wait… _all_ of you know about this? Shit." I push up on my face with my fingertips as if I am giving my features a massage.

"Yes. Everyone that has agreed to testing. The original crew, Pepe and his family, Mya, they knew from the beginning about my – studies. And eventually, whoever came along eventually found out, one way or another."

"But you didn't tell Rick." I pick up my chin off of my collarbone, glaring at him heavily. "Did you."

He shakes his head. "No."

"Camel told me."

He snorts. "Course he did. He wants you outa here more than anyone." Devil looks up. "It really isn't what it seems. These – these are people. And they need help. They're suffering, and we need to take care of these things once and for all."

"So, you shoot 'um in the fucking _head, _don't keep them in cages. These things aren't people. They're monsters. They die, and they turn into walkers, or whatever the hell you call them. There is no part of them that's human. They're dead."

"Paige, they aren't –" he pauses. "They aren't monsters."

"Whatever sick junk you wanna believe about it, but I know for a _fact,"_ I lean in closer, "That those people _aren't people._ They're – somethin' else. And when they change… they aren't _them_ anymore. I know, I've seen it happen."

"I'm getting closer." Devil mutters under his breath, but I hear it. "I've been working on this cure for – months."

"I hate to burst your bubble – no, I _love_ to burst your sleezy little down-under bubble. Ain't no cure. And it ain't gonna work, never. They're dead. Their brains die, and you should know that. Beth – she came at me, she didn't _know_ me. And it wasn't her, Devil." I lean back in the old chair. "She tried to _eat your girlfriend."_

"Paige…" he says softer now. "Every patient that I ever treated on _Espero_ that was bitten… scratched… anyone that would've turned, and anyone else. I gave them a drug, filled in with the saline. I gave each of them an IV. Waited for them to die."

"What kind of drug?" I curl my nails into the wooden arm rests of the chair. I'm still surprised the nail polish hasn't chipped much yet.

"A drug that enhances brain activity, even after death. It was never used in hospitals, and is rejected by some patients. It isn't even clinically safe, and was only used when a patient was suffering from severe brain damage. It's one of the things doctors don't tell you about.

"But this drug… it enhance brain activity even after death, to spark things such as motor skills. I gave it to each of my patients, and if they accepted it – when they died, I would take them here. Test them, and continue to give them the brain-enhancing drug. A lot of them couldn't take it. Some of them became wild, so _far_ from human and tried to kill me. They, of course, were put down. And some of them got weak and just – their brains went dead. They "re-died". After that…" he wipes his lips with the back of his hand. "I tried everything. And I'm getting closer. Trust me, the ones I have left – they _know_ what it's like to be human. They _remember."_

I seem to glare at him even more. "You can't teach a rotty how to be human again."

"Yes – you can. I can wake the part of the brain that can _remember._ They can regain their motor skills, I just need to complete the cure. It needs one more thing."

I roll my eyes. "Something you don't have, I guess."

"Actually I do. It's you."

Spit take. I slowly look up to him. "Um. What."

"In retrospect, it's you Paige. It's your blood type."

I stare into him instead of at him, as if I might bore a hole into him, or turn his body to a stone statue. "WHY. Do. You. Know. My. Blood. Type." I demand through clenched teeth.

He pushes up his hair slowly, then refuses to look at me. "When you banged your elbow… there was a small scratch… Tidan, I asked him to swab it for me, in hopes for what I was looking for. Your blood… it's _exactly_ what I need to possibly complete the cure."

I've always known I have an extremely rare blood type. Emily told me once that it wasn't normal, but it was completely alright. She told me it was called HH blood type, or Bombay Blood group. Only a small percent of the population has it, which makes it unique. _I always knew you were one of a kind,_ Em said, laughing. _Of course you'd have the rarest type of blood._ The memory makes me miss her even more, her soft smile, though rough-around-the-edges.

"My blood completes this "cure"?"

He nods. "As far as I know. Because of the rarity of your blood, and only a small percent of the population has it, I believe that there is a quality to HH blood type that can counteract the disease. The disease is more prominent in your blood type than any other. I know you're familiar with the chicken pox virus. You're injected with part of the virus that won't harm you to immunize yourself. This cure, if it works properly, should do the same."

Staring at him for a long time, I let his words soak into me. "I don't know what language you're speaking, but it sounds like bullshit."

"I wish it was." He sighs, rubbing his temples. "The world _needs_ this. We need to return to normal. We can't keep living, holed up in this place. Even if it seems safe, it's not. It may be for – ten, twenty years, but nothing is safe forever. I'm not going to live in a – box, forever. Not like this. Paige, the world needs – hope."

"Ain't no hope, and you're crazy. There's no _cure!_ These people die, they turn into walkers, then you shoot them in the head and end what is already ended!" I stand up out of the chair, sticking my jaw out, jutting from the side of my face.

"NO!' Devil growls back, his dark eyes flaring. "And I can prove it!" he rises from his own seat and turns the lever on the gas lantern so it lights the room almost as much as electric lights would. "Come this way." He beckons, and I follow him down the small corridor. I get my first look inside the cells for the first time, which are the size of small rooms. "Hey," Devil smiles at the first "patient", which is a small being curled up in the corner of the cell. It looks up, and I stare into its eyes. They are a filmed-over cool blue color, like I've seen on the rotties before, but they're nothing like I've seen before. There is something – say, different about them.

There is emotion in them. Something I have been yet to see in one of those – _things'_ eyes. The tiny little thing looks up at me, lifting her chin to get a better peek. I guess she died at about nine or ten. It is hard to tell, with her sallow eyes, the bridge of her nose sunken in. She has been dressed in a papery hospital gown that's fairly clean, her hair around her face and stringy, greasy at the roots. Her expression is tired, like someone who has been going through chemo therapy. No wonder, if Devil says he has been experimenting on them for so long.

"This is Daisy." Devil says quietly, opening the cell door with a creak. Daisy, as he calls her, blinks her large eyes, leaning up more so I can see her better. Her face is gnarled and pieces of skin have rotted off, torn away or just shriveled, and her eyebrows droop over her eyes. Her lips have seemingly melted away so I can see her teeth on side where they droop. "Hi, sweetheart. It's me, Dr. Auwley."

She seems to recognize him, because she breathes raggedly, and lifts her small hand. The bone is exposed on the surface, and I can see the tendons and vessels that no longer are needed. Those eyes. Those eyes, man. They freak me out so bad to the point that I actually shiver. The hell? I've never seen any walker like this before.

"You don't need to be afraid." Devil says, trying to put his hand on my shoulder.

"Don't touch me." I mutter, shoving him away. He's still a creep. But my eyes train on the "girl" as she leans up, getting to her feet slowly. They are bare, and the rotting soles shuffle slowly on the dusty ground as she moves towards at us at snail pace.

"Behind me, behind me, now." Devil says, physically pushing me back and swinging the door shut quickly with a high pitched squeak, fumbling with the keys to lock the door. Daisy growls and her grayish arms emerge from between the bars, her drooping mouth open as she reaches for us. Fear settles in my stomach, but I back away far enough so she can't grab me. I don't care who you are, those things would scare someone lacking the fear gene.

"Sure, you've been "curing" them." I roll my eyes, ready to make a run for it.

"No, no… there's just this – slight problem. The subconscious mind is a strange thing. I've seen this happen in human patients, ones who get shrapnel brain injuries, or knocked upside the head. When they're unconscious, up until the point where they wake up, their brain can kind of – shut itself off, if you will."

"They're dead, they don't have brain capacity." I argue.

"You're right. That's why you have to access it. And that' just what I did. Or what I'm doing. You know the drug I told you about? The one I gave all of my patients through the drip? It enhanced their brain activity, like I said, even after death to get the little connective nerve tissues not really "working", per say, but more like "connecting". When they awake as the "corpse" form, only the stem of the brain is working. That's the part that gets them up and moving. It's the memories part that you have to access.

"And that drug still flows in their brains. That was the key to access their humanistic side again. There were problems. I think you heard one speak to you. I've gotten that far. They can utter a few words, sometimes. But the other side – the cannibalistic side, it sometimes tries to overtake what I've accomplished. But like I said, the cure isn't finished. I need your blood type –"

"Are you going to tie me down and take my blood?"

"Of course not." He rubs his forehead. "As I was saying. To finish the cure, to access the brain to the full extent and once again make them "human" again, I need an anti-H antigen, aka, your blood. Because of its rarity, the CDC probably never experimented much with it, or gave it much thought. But the anti-antigen will counteract the drug in their system –"

"They don't _have_ a fucking system. They're _dead."_

He sighs heavily. "I've gotten them to talk. They _can_ regain humanism."

I remember the talking. The hoarse, labored breath, begging for help. I narrow my eyes. "Why'd it say help…"

He looks up. "Paige, we _need_ this cure. The world _needs_ this cure. You were going to discover this sooner or later. We can't just let rotting bodies overtake the world, we need to hold strong to our humanity."

"News flash. They already _do_ own the world." I look in the other cells at a few other rotting bodies that look sick. Devil's been torturing living corpses in his search for his "cure".

"That's why we need to fix it."

"Well, I'm not your fucking donor. Find someone else."

"Paige – it's a one in a million chance, and – and God brought you here to help!"

"Don't drag God into this." I growl. "He hasn't helped me any in the past."

He stands there for a moment, silently. "Paige, you can't just go – blabbing about this. I'm begging…"

"Ain't no tattletale. But if this is gonna hurt my group – you best watch your ass." I turn toward the door, but as I open it, he shoves it closed with his strong arm.

"Keep this on the down low. And please, rethink helping me."

"Get outa my way." I hiss. All I can think about it getting out of here as fast as humanly possible. Away from all this shit, everything that seems so fake. But I guess I sort of knew something like this would be in the smokehouse all along. But why, oh why… I thought this was a place to settle, to make a home. Finally, I could stop running. Things are so complicated.

Cool night air hits my face like a slap as I step down from the threshold, which seems like a farther drop than it should. My ankles ring with pain for a moment before I realize the door quietly slams shut behind me. I can see now why Devil chose this remote little location for this purpose. It is farther out than anything else besides the small watch towers that stand guard at the four corners of the property, and it looks old and rickety. I know what is concealed inside the shell.

My feet sink in the mud like it is quicksand as I shuffle back to the bunker. I walk slowly, wavering from side to side like the wind is tossing me around. Just thinking, having my thoughts to myself for once in a while. I wish there was someone who would know what to do. I never wanted to tell secrets like some giggly, gossipy girls do. If I was trusted with a secret, I kept my honor, even if it _is _with the devil. But now, I suddenly turn to my side as if Beth is there again, walking at my side. For a moment, I think she actually is, and I see her standing there. Waiting for me to tell her what is the matter. But the mirage blows away with the breeze. I wrap my arms around myself and rub my arms to keep warm. It's particularly chilly now, and I long for a jacket.

The walk always seems longer on the way back. Emily always used to tell me _"the two most powerful warriors are patience and time." _Now, it seems like all I have is patience, time, time, and more time. I turn to my side, and like Beth, I expect to see Emily there beside me. She materializes, then leaves just as Beth did, of course. I miss my friends so deeply. Even if Em and I were so far apart in age, I never really had any other friends before we started apocalypsin'. I always kind of considered her the sister I never had.

The bunker is silent, as it was before. I crawl into bed and pull the covers under my head, only to remember my hat was yanked off my head. It doesn't matter. I'm never going back to that smokehouse. Nothing can come from that but badness, and disappointment on Devil's part. When they died, they became monsters, just as all of the other rot-heads. Nothing more. They aren't human. Devil's a slow jackass if he really believes there's a "cure". There is no cure, and he's smokin' up some damn crackpipe.

Petey turns onto yet another deserted road, slowly easing the teal calypso along. We're at about half a tank of gas, and good on mileage. Headed in the right direction, towards South Carolina, the heaters are going full blast. My eyes droop. I am exhausted. Already without my seatbelt on, I curl in a ball and lay my head on the seat. I feel the rumble of Petey's chuckle in the seats.

"Ain't asleep yet, baby bird?" he looks odd from this angle, tilted up and his head looks giant. I blink a couple of time in the darkness.

"Not yet. The nest is too uncomfortable."

He pats his leg. "Up here, little bird." I scooch up until my head is on his thigh and the steering when is right above my face. The soft rocking of his knee lulls me to sleep, and he drives with one hand and strokes my hair. "Hush little birdy, don't you cry. Petey's gonna buy you a… a…"

"Big fat pie…" I mumble, still half in my sleepy-land. He chuckles and strokes over my hair again with his incredibly warm, rough fingers.

"And if that big fat pie is bad… that will make Petey real sad."

"You suck at poems."

He pats my head. "Whatya you know…"

I smile and let him go back to rocking me with his knee and humming "Hush little baby" to me. it feels nice, and my heart swells. He looks kind of handsome from down here. His velvety skin, those wonderful eyes that flicker in the dark, and those strong arms that could hold me. Those lips that could kiss my trembling skin… those lips.

I wake. The room is still dark, but I can tell that it's morning. Even if it's early, I dress in my older pair of jeans with a rip in one knee and pull on my cleanest dirty shirt, a tank top with a raggedy red button-up over it. My red converse could use a day or two to dry the caked mud on them, so I wear my beat-up boots. The walk from the bunker to the main house seems like a million miles today, but the sun is shining and I have a lot on my mind, so I use this time to think. I even hum a little bit, but like I said, I barely ever sing or hum. Only when I feel like it, or no one is around.

"S'up?" T-Dog grins when he sees me. Strange, what happened to me last night, and I forgot that none of them have a damn clue. I give a half nod to T and look at the others who are in the kitchen. Tidan is nowhere to be seen, but Mya and Alexa are drinking coffee in the kitchen. Staring at me. They must know that I'm in on this big scam now. Devil is also not present, but now I know where he always is.

"Paige, guess what," Carl says, his hat covering his cast-downward face. "I did what you said and started drawing a portrait."

"Really?" I sit down beside him as Mya hands me a cup of coffee silently, without looking me in the eye at all, and retreating to her spot at the kitchen counter that must be safe haven. "Lemme see."

"Nah, not until it's done. And it isn't very good." Carl shrugs, picking at his eggs. I pat his hat and drink my coffee for a while.

"I need some fresh air." I say, passing Lori and Rick on the way out. I never really had time to process what Rick said about Lori yesterday. She's pregnant. Must not be very far along, I can't tell at all. I was never really good with pregnant folks though, every time I tried to say something it came out wrong, so I just try to steer clear of them. Or just nod and smile politely. And babies have never been my jazz either, but I can tell there is something off about Rick and Lori. I could always sort of tell. Maybe I'll get the whole story someday, but for now, I mosey on out to the stable.

"Hey," the man who I remember having dug Beth's grave is brushing the flank of the tall dark horse I remember being called Benny. "You're one of the new folks, aren't you…"

"Yeah." I bat my lashes at him and he blushes. He looks like a farm hand, easy to tell, with his curly blonde hair, dumb blue eyes, and slightly crooked teeth. "I'm Paige."

"Bill." He offers me his hand to shake, but it's covered in horse hair. "Sorry," he mutters, wiping it off. I shake it, and it's clammy and warm.

"This horse really is a beauty. I bet if you kicked him, he's lay out right in the orchards. Do you ride?"

He nods. "Sometimes, but a lotta work to be done around here. You?"

"Yeah. Can I take him for a spin?" I smile, putting on my southern charm. He blushes again.

"Sure, I'll get him saddled up for you."

"Thanks." I flutter my lashes again, just for good measure.

It really has been a long time since I've ridden a horse. I used to ride when I was younger, and my mom tried to get me into barrel racing when I was younger, and she and my dad weren't split. It's at least been six years since I've ridden, probably. I often helped out at my neighbor's stables for a little extra cash, but didn't ever do much riding. I was too into moonshinin' and stuff like that. At first, just like I'm a beginner, I pull back too much on the reign, and Benny snorts and tosses his head. I kick him to go, but he goes backwards.

"You sure you've done this before?" Bill calls from the other side of the fence.

"Positive." I say, loosening on the reigns. Benny settles and I nudge him until he's at a brisk walk. "How 'bout I leave him by the fence when I get back."

"Super." He says with a little less enthusiasm that the word, and I kick the steed harder. Riding always used to clear my head. Maybe this was a dumb idea, but – whoa! WHOA! WHOA!

"Slow – slow down, man!" I say to the horse, but of course, he doesn't listen. I bounce up and down like an idiot, trying to regain my balance, but I feel it slipping. I suddenly remember why I enjoyed a ride so much. Because you can't fight it, no matter where you're from, who ya are. I lean slightly forward, digging my heels down and slightly stand in the saddle. "Come on, boy, show me what ya got." I smile, looking behind me to see the satisfying trodden clumps of dirt fly up at the rear where we tread the ground.

I turn down the orchard path, where citrus trees hang low and their leave brush me in the face. I spit out a couple leaves, but manage to make it through without getting whapped in the face. Benny pants, the girth heaving as he breathes, and he lays out, chomping at his bit. I give him some slack, and I see why they call him the Jett. His ears flat, tail out, he looks like a rocking horse, his legs stretched out in front and back of him. It has been a long time since I've felt joy like this. This freedom, and this bliss. I whip the reigns and stand up more, feeling him move beneath me.

It seems like forever before I decide to slow down, feeling winded myself. I pull him slowly to a trot, and finally to a walk. The property is bigger than I thought it was. I'm so far out that I can hear water bubbling, maybe a small brook or stream leading to a pond or something. Sliding down from the saddle, rubbing in between my legs where it aches, I sit down beside a tree and let the horse graze. Sweat glistens on his flanks, but I can tell he is at his happiest when he's allowed to belt out like that. He likes running.

I pant and lay my head against a tree. All of this doesn't seem real; in this closed off part of the world, no rot-heads, no pain, no suffering. I've seen the cities. They're hell, and the walkers own them. But here, this is so – scarily untouched. I could sit here for days and not hear a peep from anyone. Then, those thoughts pop into my mind.

Petey… Beth… Even Em, though I'm not exactly sure if she's one of those rotties. I'd like to think she isn't.

But Beth… if Devil gave all of his patients the drug to stimulate their brains, why didn't is work on her? Why does it only work on a select few? I sigh. I'm thinking about this stuff again. But it's so hard to get those images out of your head. Daisy… or what once was Daisy. A kid. That could've been my sister, my own kid. And those other ones that grabbed me. "Help", that broken beer-bottle-chime in the wind voice beckons to me. "Help", it said. Walkers can't talk… sigh.

Before any of this apocalypse shit started happening, I would have talked to God now, probably. We were old friends. I don't talk to Him anymore. Not much since he stopped listening. Maybe he just stopped listening to everyone, I think. Too many people asking for stuff, maybe. So, I gotta go off my gut, make my own decision. But, it feels strange not to talk to anyone.

"Ya out there, Pete?" I speak up, my voice the first one I've heard in probably two hours or so. I look at my cracked watch. It's about four in the afternoon. "If ya are, it's me, Paige. I need some advice."

Of course, there is no answer, but I can trust Petey to listen, of all people. So, I pretend he is here, next to me. "So, I gotta make this decision, and – man, you know how I am with that kinda stuff. But it's a big one. If I decide no, nothing really happens, but if I say yes –" Benny snorts, still grazing. "It's really weird, P… I feel like this Devil guy – he isn't crazy. I mean – I heard one of them talk. They _talked._"

For the longest time, I sit here, my head against the tree, and I close my eyes, drifting off slightly. When I wake, it feels like midafternoon, and I can feel the ground slightly rumbling. I wink my eyes and look up to see a small dot out in the orchard. As it gets closer and closer, I can start to see that it is another horse and rider, a chestnut colored mare that gallops with pride. I sit up and rub my eyes, Benny still only a few yard away from me, snorting and trotting in place. I watch the rider slow the steed to a slow trot, and finally to a walk. I get up and brush off my pant legs, that still feel stiff from the riding.

"Bill said you'd be out here," Maggie says, sliding down from the other horse. It whinnies to her, and sways from side to side, joining her friend Benny to graze after Maggie slips the bit out of its mouth and hangs the bridle on the saddle horn. Huh, with her Georgia heritage, she must be a horse girl too. But I never would have guessed that she would follow me out here. But she looks a lot better than she did yesterday, struggling with the basket of laundry. More energized, and less like she just wants to sleep. Sorrow still papers her body language, but being active is the first step, I guess.

"What're you doing out here?" I say, shoving my hands in my pockets and kicking at a loose clump of grass with the toe of my boot.

"'Bout to ask you the same question." She chews on the inside of her cheek, and I can see the faint mark where I got her with my knife what seems like forever ago, but in reality, it isn't. "I saw you take the horse out, and it wasn't that hard to sucker Bill into gettin' me one." She pushes her short hair back that has fallen askew from lack of being tied back with the riding.

I rub the back of my neck, peering at the two horses grazing in the untrimmed grass near a small pool of water that isn't even big enough to swim in, but probably has fish. "You doing alright?"

She rubs her thighs where the saddle beats on them. "Yeah… dad's doin' alright too. Are you – okay, too?"

"I'm – fine." I sigh, leaning my back against the big tree. "How'd Bill know I'd be out here?"

Maggie shrugs and sits cross-legged on the ground, her hands in her lap. They are slightly red from the reins, as are mine, but they have stopped tingling. I slowly slide down beside her, bringing my knees up to my chest and pressing my elbows into my ribs. My hair is falling out of its ponytail, and I blow it out of my face, though it just falls right back where it was before. I give up, letting the lids droop over my eyes. "Said this is where the horses often take ya…"

"You ride a lot?" I ask tiredly, feeling my body beg for rest. It doesn't seem like I got enough sleep last night, but I just couldn't sleep another second.

"We used to have a far. Beautiful place, lotsa space, and dad loves animals. We had lots of horses, and cows, stuff like that. He's a vet… for big animals mostly. Well, I guess he _was_ a vet. Our farm was taken by walkers. We were forced to evacuate, that was where we'd come from the night you came." She rubs her cheek as if to feel if the mark my knife gave her is still there. I smirk slightly.

"Sorry 'bout that."

Maggie scowls, then purses her lips. "Got me some extra attention from Glenn, so I guess you're off the hook for now."

I smile. "Well, that's good then." Leaning back, I am silent for a long time.

"You've been… strange, today, Paige."

I lift my hand from over my eyes. "How so?"

"You're always weird, just – today, you're weirder."

"Oh, well thanks for the memo, I'll try to be less weird." I lean my head back again and put my hand over my eyes once more to shield the sun out. "I just – can't tell you… it's kind of… fucked up."

"Well, spit it out…" she waves her hand and cocks her head. "Are you hiding something?"

"No, no, hell no!" I lie unconvincingly. "Okay, Maggie – I needa talk to you about something."

She nods. "I'm listenin'."

I gulp. "When I was hanging laundry yesterday, Camel approached me and told me there were – strange things in the smokehouse."

"I doubt you listened to him…" she pauses. "Ya did?"

I nod. "I went out there last night – snuck in through a window because, you know, curiosity is better than boredom. It was really messy and stuff, and looked deserted, but – I went into this other part of it, and the only light was this one lantern. Looked like there was nothin' there, so I was going to walk across the corridor to the lantern, but I was – grabbed."

She narrows her eyes, looking confused.

"There are – _walkers _in there. He thinks he's curing them. He's fuckin' _crazy,_ but Maggie – when I was grabbed, one of them… one of those things, it talked to me."

She looks surprised. "It said…"

"It told me help. Like – it knew who I was, or something. Apparently, my rare blood type can counteract the zombie infection, or so Devil says."

"Not if it's an act of God." She shakes her head.

I'm silent for a moment. "I don't really get – mixed up with God anymore." Her eyebrows furrow together like a caterpillar in the middle.

"Devil made me have a blood test. He said to see if I was compatible, if Beth needed a transfusion… he…he said I wasn't, because I'm O+, and she's – she was B+… he took dad's blood too, and – he took a few other's too."

"Shit." I rub my face. "He got Tidan to take a sample when I whacked my elbow. He scammed me."

She pushes her hair back. "Dad kept walkers in the barn. He said he was holdin' out for a cure."

"There is no cure."

"You said it talked."

I think for a second. "You can't cure it, they're – dead, Maggie."

"Yeah, but… maybe not. Maybe we're missin' something…"

We again are drenched in silence, besides the humming bugs around us, and the sounds of the horses. I am deep in thought for however long I am out here with Maggie, my dead friend's sister. Now that I look at her, I can see a few similarities. They both have that same look in their eye, and I can hear the sameness when they talk. But Maggie isn't Beth.

"I'll race you back to the stable." I suddenly say. God, do I feel like I'm in high school again when I say it. Even my voice sounds like much-too-excited young teen. She smiles and accepts the offer.

"I'm a champion, you know." She says, using the saddle horn to boost herself up onto the saddle. I do the same and hoist up onto Benny's back.

"Yeah, but I have the Jett." I smile, whipping the reins.

It feels nice to race Maggie. I feel that strange cloud always covering our relationship, ever since I met my group. It kind of erases that strange awkward feeling I had when I was around her. I lean forward in the saddle and let her horse's muzzle brush the back of mine, giving Benny some slack. He stampedes the ground and tosses his head, throwing his legs out in front of him. Somewhere, my hair tie falls out and my hair flies free, but it feels good, like silk on my back as the wind pushes it off my face. I feel like the apocalypse isn't even real again. Like I could be here all along, and the outside world is just like this. _Kadaclop kadaclop kadaclop, _go my horse's hooves on the ground, tearing up the grass.

We leave the horses by the fence, just as I told Bill I would, unbridling them and leaving the tack on the saddle horns. "Haven't done that in a while." Maggie says, brushing her hands together as we walk to the clothes line where dry clothes now flap in the wind. "Beth and I used to race down in the peach trees, back before this all happened. We were pretty closed off on the farm, though. The walkers came so suddenly… we never even thought about it…" she pushes her hair up off her forehead. I pick up the basket that has blown over in the night and start taking sheets and clothes down off the line.

"Back in Tennessee, it started out as weird shit on the news… I used to work in this little bait and tackle shop. Just a little corner store near the river that sold rotisserie hot dogs, fountain drinks, and bait and tackle. There was a little TV set, tiny, old with a squiggly line goin' down the middle. But I saw the news stories there, what they walkers were doin'. I thought it was a ton of tabloid junk…" I shrug, putting the clothespins in my mouth as I fold the laundry and put it in the basket to be put away. Maggie tosses a few half-folded sheets in the basket and cocks her head to the side.

"Dad always wanted to believe there was helpin' them. He kept 'em in the barn…" she clears her throat. "My brother… my mom… he was holdin' out for a cure… like Devil, I guess. Now he sees that there isn't."

I hadn't been under the impression that Hershel had believed that this was just an epidemic. Like the black plague, small pox… the world eventually finds a cure, or gets through it. People learn to fight it off. They adapt, as the world tries to repopulate. I think of Lori… what Rick said about her… she'll be showing soon…

"I'm gonna take these into Vicki." Maggie clears her throat and lifts the now full basket. "You gonna be alright?"

"Yeah, got a major case of saddle-ass, but yeah, I think I'll be okay." I rub my ass and she chuckles softly, more color in her cheeks. I was a little worried about her yesterday. I can't expect her to just move on and forget. But it's a step up from the shaking, quivering lip. I'd call it a level up.

Rubbing my hands together, I walk as slowly as I can to the house where I find Alexa wiping the counters with _Windex_. I smile and pick up a rag, helping her.

"Thanks, hon." She smiles out of the corner of her mouth, avoiding eye contact.

"Where's Devil?" I ask, and she ceases wiping for a moment, her auburn hair falling out of its ponytail into her face.

"He's out…" is all she says. I nod once and leave the house, letting the door bang shut behind me on its own. The walk to the smokehouse seems much shorter in the light, and my boots don't sink in the mud like my converse did last night. Maybe it's just the fact that I'm not stumbling in the dark to find something I've never even seen before. Even so, I am slow to make my way through the undulation of grass that is about to my waist, and I take my time to get there.

Window's been patched up where I kinda broke in last night. I slowly approach the door and try the handle. Deadlocked. I knock lightly with my knuckle. "Devil?" I call quietly, then louder, "Devil? It's Paige."

There is no answer, so I stand there waiting with my hand raised. I knock again. "Let me in, Devil."

I hear a lock click and the door swings open. I hold out my arm. "Take all you want."

The rotty is eerily still as Devil buckles the restraints on the table. It is metal, like the one in the white medical room in the house, but this one has leather restraints that look like they are made out of belts. The walker that he has chosen is a women, maybe about my age, and she, like little Daisy, is in a thin hospital gown with a green and blue print of little flowers connected by perforated lines.

"Who's this?" I finally say, still hovering beside Devil as he buckles her in with the same like of buckling a child's car seat.

"This is Millie." He says, patting her arm gently as he finishes. It is easy to tell that these aren't just walkers to Devil; he "knows" them. Maybe even has relationships, as far as you can have a relationship with someone who's dead. "Olive's little sister. They came to us, maybe a month or two after the apocalypse struck. She was bitten, here." his hand hovers at her leg where there is a faded human pallet embedded in the rotting skin. I had no idea that this was all so complex… Olive's _sister._

"So, this – drug that you used, she accepted it?"

"Yes. She wasn't the first I tried it on. But she's one of the first who accepted the medicine. I've been testing her for the longest. Seems fair that she should be first to get a transfusion." He shrugs, placing his hand on her head. Her hair looks like it was probably once the same sun yellow as her sister's, but it has faded to about dull honey, and her scalp looks like it is starting to peel.

"Does Olive – visit, often?"

He shakes his head. "No… she prefers not to. She doesn't like to see her sister this way. But she trusts me, and she does things to keep her busy. It helps."

I nod, and sit in the chair that Devil holds out for me. I've never been in this building before. It is connected to the smokehouse where the actual "patients" stay, but this is a small edition to it, like a tiny little medical center, just big enough to be considered one room.

"This is where I do all of my testing." Devil says, snapping on a pair of white latex gloves that make his hands look even bigger, and he snaps a blue latex tie over my upper arm. I think it's so my veins will pop out. I'm not for sure though, hell, I ain't no doctor. "The smokehouse is, well, too unsanitary for these purposes… but this wasn't a big enough part of the building to keep them. So, Bill, Pepe and I cleared out the smokehouse of all the clutter and junk and fashioned some – means for protection. Pepe would only allow this is he knew I was safe… good man, he is…"

"He is." I say softly, looking down at my arm as he pokes around for my veins. I think about how gracious Pepe was to let us stay here, even if certain cigar-smoking, dog-wrangling, wife-beater-shirt-wearing people weren't. "I traveled with his cousin Petey."

"Oh, Petey. He was Pepe's favorite cousin. He used to tell us about him, he always said _"he'll be here, jut you wait. He knows where to come."_ We all joked about it… but in some sorts, he did come."

"He saved my ass off the street." I say as Devil wipes a cold wipe down the crease of my arm. Millie seems to be watching with interest, that creepy human/zombie look in her eyes. Occasionally, she appears to try and struggle at the leather belts, but then she remembers, if she even can remember as Devil claims she can, where she is. "Petey wasn't just this – guy. He was the best guy."

He uncaps a sterile needle and tauts my skin before poking it in. I watch my scarlet blood spiral into the tube and towards the bag that awaits the savory juice. "Here, play with this. It'll keep your arm from tensing up, or going numb." He hands me a cushiony rubber ball, and I squeeze it in my hand.

"So… how many people actually came here? Followed the signs, came lookin' for help…" I ask as I continue playing with the ball. "And if Camel doesn't like people too much, why _are_ there signs at all?"

"Not Camel's place to pick a fight. And beggars can't be choosers. He can put up as much of a tizzy as he wants, but he knows he'd just as soon as be out on his ass before Pepe gives him a quarter for him quarrels." He leans back, running his fingers through his hair backwards. "If it were up to me, I'd be flushing Camel's Toros down the toilet, but he's been here longer than me, so…"

"Why'd you retire from the army?" I ask out of the blue. "Why not stay?"

He shrugs. "I'd done my duties, 'sides, they wouldn't let me back in because I lost limb. They can't letcha back in if you lose an appendage." Lifting up the leg to the left side of his pants, he shows me a prosthetic foot that I hadn't even noticed before. "Pepe recruited me and a few others after that… and I met Lex while preparing for the apocalypse." He slightly chuckles. "So, I guess we do kinda have a Bonnie and Clyde deal."

I smirk and stare down at my arm, still watching the bag fill with my bodily fluids. Devil avoids eye contact. "So, why did you change your mind…"

I copy him, looking into my lap. "The rotty said help."

"Yes?"

"Rotties don't talk, for one. If there is an ounce of humanity, I better be the damn one to trigger it."

He applies pressure to where the needle was after sliding the tube out, holding the tube in his other hand as he multitasks by taping my arm. I feel a little woozy, but I concentrate on squeezing the ball. "I'm almost positive this will work. The components to your blood are what I've been searching for."

"I also just wanted to see if you were crazy, and if I was right… plus, I think I can spare a little blood. If Beth or Petey were one of those walkers, I'm sure I would do it for them too."

Devil takes some sort of manual pump and starts to hook it up to Millie's arm through another tube. She patiently waits, that hallow look in her eyes, occasionally growling and pulling on her restraints again. When he is done setting the transfusion pump up, there is a full apparatus on her arm, and the automatic pump starts transfusing my blood. "There ya go." Devil says, patting her head. Her lips are slightly drooping, like Daisy's were, and her eyelids seem to be too low as well. Her mouth hangs slightly open always, as if she can't close it.

"We done here?" I ask, still feeling dizzy.

"For now. Thank you. I can't thank you enough."

"Yeah, yeah."

"I'll walk you back to your room. You should probably lie down." He says, and after waiting about an hour so I can actually walk, Devil helps me up, taking my arm as I stand. "Since you've never given blood before, you'll feel sort of dizzy like this for the next hour or so. You just gave a pint of blood…"

I let him help me walk, leaning on him slightly for support as we make our way back to the center of the property. It is a beautiful day; I can hear all of the birds chirping, the leaves rustling in the treetops. Horses snort and whinny in the stable a few hundred yards away, and I can see Carl playing with one of Camel's dogs. It's the black one, BobbyJo, and he plays a game of fetch with a flying disc Frisbee. The shaggy dog comes real close to catching it, but misses each time he throws. Lori is sitting on the porch with Olive, Alexa, and Carol, and T-Dog is sprawled out in the eaves of the porch where it's nice and shady.

"Paige!" Carl calls, tossing the flying disc to me. I fumble, still disoriented, though I don't end up catching it. Devil leans down and picks it up, tossing it back. "You were supposed to catch." Carl smirks.

"Sorry, man." I smirk out of the corner of my mouth.

"I'll play with you." Devil smiles, letting BobbyJo gnaw on the Frisbee that hangs limply out of his hand. "Paige was just going to the cabins."

I nod once and ruffle Carl's hair, observing his sheriff's hat laying on the ground a few feet away. "I'll come out and toss it around with you later, if you want."

"Okay." He shrugs, tossing the disc to Devil, who half watches me to make sure I'm alright to walk. He wouldn't want his precious blood donor getting hurt. I amble down by the stables, feeling the hot sun on my back as I meander to the field of corn that is not far off from the pasture where the cows graze. I weave in and out of the tall corn stalks and find a nice cool spot to lay, slowly easing myself to the ground. The soil is nice and cool dampened here, and I put my hands behind my head and stare up at the blue sky, watching a crow flap overhead. Again, I think about how strange this untouched paradise is. It's just like a secluded ranch.

I close my eyes, letting the nature overtake me. The sounds of her are suddenly so calming, I think I could fall asleep here. _Rsst. Snap. Shhhhht. _I crack open one eye to the sound of the stalks rustling, only closing it again when I feel the warm body slide down next to me. Tidan sits with one leg straight, the other bent, and his elbow resting on his bent knee. His dark hair is pushed back to the sides, off his forehead, and he smells like sweat and cologne.

With my eyes still closed, I whisper. "You sampled my blood."

He is silent but I can hear his breath. He huffs on one hand, but on the other, it is a sigh. I sit up slowly, my head still spinning. "You knew the whole damn time, but you let it go on!"

He rubs his face with his florid hands, his fingernails turning white when he applies pressure to his skin.

"You don't get to do that. You don't get to do that, and come follow me here expecting warm and friendly talk."

I feel him lay beside me amongst the tall-looking cornstalks, his head about the same level as mine, maybe a little lower. I feel like Jack and the Beanstalk down here, with the corn towering over us like trees.

"I never wanted anyone to hurt you. No one did, we just want to get rid of these things, one at a time." He says, his voice hushed amid the swaying corn trees. "I never wanted to hurt you, _ever."_

I lean up slightly. "Then why…"

He pauses. "Paige, I saw my mom – my little sister, my best friend… I saw them turn into – walkers. Rotties, whatever you call them. I saw it happen. And _I_ was the one to put them down. _I _was. And I saw their faces, those faces were my _family._ I know they're in there, and I wanted to help Devil find a cure. It's out there."

"Don't say retarded stuff, Tidan." I huff, leaning up and sitting with both knees up. "But if there is a cure, you don't have to ride the Wah-mbulance and more because I gave Devil some of my blood today. Not even two hours ago."

He angrily gets to his feet, stalking off with a loping grudge in his step, muttering to himself. I don't care. I never really care anymore.

The hot sun still beats down, but the abundance of corn shading me feels nice. Every day here seems to feel like spring, or summer, maybe that's just because of the coast. I sort of like it here, it fancies my liking. I get to my feet, brushing the dirt off my already-dirty pants and dither my way up to the house, squinting in the sun. Carl is drawing in his notebook, sitting in the eaves of the house where T was earlier.

"Hey," I say, and he looks up, smiling, and then looks down again. "Still drawin'?"

"Trying." He shrugs. "What're you doing?"

I shrug. "I donno. Just walkin' around I guess." I sit beside him, and we talk for a while. About his life before we came here. About a little girl named Sophia that used to be his friend, about school. We talk for a long time, and I lay my head on the checkerboard eave of the porch, stretching out my legs.

"I'm gonna go check out the rest of the yard and stuff, okay?"

He nods, absorbed in his drawing again. I make my way around to the back of the house and feel the slight breeze on my skin, listening to the jays and chickadees in the trees. _Kerchip, kerchip, kerchop._ The faint sound tightens my eardrum reflex, and I look to the east side of the yard. The hot sun beats down on Tidan's back as he shoves the hoe into the garden, picking at a few nasty weeds. He wears a pair of sturdy work gloves, and his sleeves are pushed up to his elbows. For a moment, he takes off his cowboy hat and wipes his forehead with the back of his gloved hand, going back to plowing. He spots me as I come over to the garden that is full of cultivating vegetables.

"Hot one today." I say softly, and he stops hoeing, leaning on the handle of the long garden tool. There is a spot of sweat on his chest, and he pulls his shirt in and out, airing it out.

"Hottest in a while." He says, sniffing, wiping his face again and succeeding in getting more dirt on his face. Swat gleams in his pores, and the dirt mixes to make a sordid concoction.

"Hot summers where I come from." I say, looking down at the damp, dark dirt that the toes of my boots are submerged in. "Shame I had to leave. From Tennessee…"

"New Mexico." He retorts, spitting in the dirt. "Pretty hot there, too." As he breathes, the muscles of his abdomen and chest press against the blue fabric of his shirt that has a tear starting in the collar. "Look, Paige…" I look up. "I really didn't want to hurt you. And I didn't mean to walk away earlier."

I shrug. "People tend to walk away from their problems when they don't know the answer. I happen to be your problem, Tide…"

He leans on the hoe again. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means, you walked away from me because I was the problem." I shrug again. "Simple as the sun risin'."

He snorts. "You think you're my problem…"

"I ain't nobody else's."

He smirks again. "You sure are a character, Paige…"

I roll my eyes. "That's what they tell me."

He takes one glove off and rubs his palm with the fingers that are still clothes in the gray fabric. "Look, I didn't… I didn't mean to take that blood from you. Devil asked me to, and I – really want this cure."

"Seems like a lota people do. If there even is one."

"I have a feeling there is. God wouldn't just – kill all these people and leave us hanging…"

I grind my jaw. "Me and God don't really mix anymore…"

He cocks his head. "Why not?"

"'Cause when he stopped listenin', I stopped followin'."

He nods understandingly and scuffs the toe of his boot on the toe of the other one. "I didn't mean to make you mad."

I shake my head. "Isn't what all people aim to do…"

"No, Paige you don't get it! See! No one gets it!" he throws his arm over his shoulder in a "why bother" manner and scratches his face, getting more dirt mixed in with the sweat.

"No one gets what?"

He huffs another sigh. "I like you, okay? I know it's stupid, and I know you don't care…" he trails off, leaving me standing there like an idiot. The birds still chirp around me, and I hear one of Camel's dogs bark in the distance. Somewhere, a cow lows and a horse whinnies.

"You think I don't care…?"

He looks up, not with his head, but only with his eyes. "I know you don't."

"Tidan…"

"What…" he mumbles, the sun beating down harshly.

_"Kiss the hell out of me." _I demand harshly, my teeth gritted. _"Please."_ The son of a bitch yanks me in close to him, and he leans in with hands on my upper arms. _What the fucking hell am I doing!_ I lean in and our lips connect. I want to say that fireworks go off, doves fly behind us, and romantic music plays. But this is the apocalypse, and the closest thing we have is a little brown bird fluttering by me. His lips are warm and moist, and I can smell that woodsy sweat smell on him. I hand slowly moves to the back of his neck, which is damp with sweat as well, and the ends of his hair are soggy as well. His face smells like soil, and his mouth tastes like Big Red gum. I lean slightly backwards, and wrap my arm around his neck, bending at the elbow to pull myself closer to him. My lips move against his like silk, and my nose squishes on the side of his. Warm, sanguine fingers find my hair, tangling in the straight locks that flow down my back.

Slowly, we let go, and he just looks at me. I shake my head, full of lust, and yank him down again, forcing him to yet again kiss me. The hoe falls from between us, laying in the garden amongst cabbages, squash, and carrots. I feel like I am going to swallow him, but Tidan is right, I don't care.

**Well, well, well? What did you think? If it is thumbs up, or thumbs down, please comment! Thank you, loves!**


	9. Nine:Blood Boils Without Fire

_**I apologize for a long wait. And I know this chapter might seem kind of "boring" to you, I don't really know, but I promise the next couple chapters will be much more thrilling, haha. Thank you for staying with me, I love ya'll! :D Especially you, Rainbow!**_

Nine: Blood Boils without Fire

"The hell is wrong with you?"

"Hmm?" I look up from my oatmeal, holding my spoon above it to let the chunky substance run off of it into the rest of the slop.

"Why you smilin' like that? Ya look like an idiot." Daryl tempers, his thumbs digging into the soft rind of an orange. Instead of patiently peeling the fruit, he digs his fingers into the heart of it and tears it in half, eating it messily with his fingers. Daryl may be a hardass, but he's starting to grow on me. Growin' on me like mold, but still growing on me.

"Hmm?"

He snorts, continuing to skin his orange.

"I don't know whatcha talkin' 'bout, redneck." I sigh heavily, stirring the spoon in the glump of oats and milk. I take the spoon that lies in the honey dish, picking it up to watch the thick gold substance drip off the spoon and puddle in its cousins in the bowl.

"See, ya doin' it again…" he snorts, reaching across the table rudely to grab the piping plate of sausage. "Ya actin' like you're sittin' on a damn rainbow, rays a sunshine buffin' outa ya ass …"

"No I'm not." I start to interject, then sigh again, dropping the spoon in the honey. "Who shoved an arrow up _your_ ass?"

He grunts, pushing his chair away from the table. "Ya damn women..." Daryl clomps out of the room, the same grumpy look on his face as always. I shrug and push my eggs around my plate. Olive smiles into her napkin as she pretends to wipe her face, and I can even catch Hershel smiling a little. I have no idea what they're talking about, with my so-called strange behavior, but –

"It's so nice out today." I sigh, and Maggie's eyebrows furrow at me. I actually feel like clamping my hand over my mouth, but it would be much too obvious, or would it? "I'm gonna go outside."

"Careful not ta blind the sun wi' your guidin' light." Daryl rolls his eyes, running his hand backwards through his hair that is still wet for the shower. "I was gon go huntin' round here in the woods later, if ya wanna come."

"What time?"

"Said later, woman, not a specific time." He grunts.

"Thought ya didn't believe in women huntin'." I wash the syrup off my hands in the kitchen sink and scrub off my plate. Daryl snorts.

"Ya got a good aim, but ya can't go around swingin' that rifle, figure it'd be a good idea to brush ya up on ya bow skills. Pepe wanted us ta clear out some a the deer round here. Too many a the suckers. Is that a yes, or a no, woman?"

"I'll meet you out by the stables at three, I have a few other things to do." I self-consciously rub my arm where it is still sore. I hope the others haven't noticed the slight greenish bruise in the crease between my upper and lower arm. "Thanks for breakfast, Mya."

The woman gives me a strange look, as if a girl has never said thanks before, and I don't even slam the door on my way outside. It's another hot day, maybe a little cooler than yesterday. It's probably in the eighties. Hard to believe that back in Tennessee, or Georgia, it's probably snowing like hell. I meander over towards the stables, and walk into the long concrete corridor that the horses and Margarita call home. It smells like horse shit and hay in here, but hell, I've _slept_ in worse. After Petey, when I was on my own, I once slept in an ice cooler outside of an abandoned gas station, and it smelled like decaying bodies in there. Smelled worse than this, and I may have been lightheaded for a day from the fumes. This is a gigantic step up.

"Bill?" I call, and he pokes his head out from the stall he happens to be cleaning out. The girl who I often see with him, Naomi, is holding the wheelbarrow steady while he shovels soiled hay and manure into the rusty bed.

"Yeah?" he smiles and pushes his hat back off his forehead slightly, wiping dirt onto his forehead as he wipes his sweat.

"You need any help?"

He looks surprised and Naomi snorts, rolling her chocolate brown eyes. "Uh… sure. Can you put these saddle blankets out in the sun to dry? If it wouldn't be no trouble…"

"Course." I say, much to Naomi's dislike. Seems like she is a little jealous of what I can do to Bill's ears; turn them a bright red color. I smirk right in her face as I carry out the damp saddle blankets and hang them on the fence, lining them up like little ducks in a row. I return to the stable where Bill's girl seems to be chewing him out. It's funny, actually. I've always kind of done that to men, for some reason, which is strange because I never saw myself as that pretty or anything. I remember high school, I could just ask where I was supposed to turn in my paper, and a guy would be staring at my boobs and the one thing I prize, my full lips, and trying to get me to go out on a date. Strangely, I didn't do much dating in high school. Maybe because I was spending most of my time getting drunk, trying to get passing grades, and spending time with crazy ass Emily. I wonder what she'd think of me now. God, I hope I get to see that woman again someday.

When three o'clock rolls around, I mill around by the stables, waiting for Daryl to show up. He never seemed like the type of guy to be on time anyway. I've spent most of the day helping Bill and a few other of Pepe's hands. I assisted a guy named Pat pick oranges out in the orchards, and Margarita carried them back in baskets tied to her back. I actually like Pat. He's obviously just a lonely guy. I climbed up in the trees and handed basket after basket of oranges down to him. I am just feeling so strangely sentimental today. I'm sure that will change once I get out into the woods with Daryl, but for now, I feel – better. Like all of these traumatizing things haven't happened, and things can just sorta be normal for now. I know Devil will want to take more blood later, but I feel like a hunt might be energizing. I used to hunt for my food when I was alone for those few months, but I haven't since I found Rick's group.

"Hey," Daryl calls, and I look up to see him stalking towards me with Pepe's son at his heels. "Whatcha millin' 'round for, let's go!"

"I've been waiting for you for fifteen minutes, it's 3:24!" I shove my watch in his face and Pepe's son smirks. He towers over Daryl, but isn't even as tall as Devil, not even close. I look up into his almost black eyes and he hands me a small compound crossbow.

"This was mine when I was younger. It's easy to cock and won't put much strain on you." He hands it to me, and a small collapsible canvas quiver with a few arrows in it. "It'll do ya good. It's yours."

"Thanks." I say, a slight smirk on my face as he nods.

"Careful out there. Lots of woods and easy to get lost."

"Ain't gonna get lost if ya with me." Daryl shoves his hand in Pepe's son's, and shakes up and down a few good times. "We'll be back by sundown, then."

"Paige?" he calls before he leaves. "Devil wanted to see you before supper, if that makes sense to you. Does it?" he tips his baseball cap up on his head, his long gangly arms hanging at his sides awkwardly.

"Yeah, I'll be there." I smile and wave once, saluting to him. He salutes back and Daryl shoves against my shoulder.

"The hell was that about?" his forehead creases and he chews on the inside of his cheek.

"Nothing, I just got an appointment with the devil." I roll my eyes as we make our way out to the edge of the woods. Not only does _Espero_ have orchards and fields of flowing wheat and corn, it also has surrounding woods. I'm get to explore them, but I wasn't ever planning on going alone. It reminds me too much of my months spent alone, wondering if I'd wake up alive. Daryl's a little bit of encouraging safety, but I never would have guessed I'd be spending my afternoon in the woods with Redneck Dixon.

"Ya ever shot a bow?" he asks as he steps over half a fallen tree. "Or have ya just been wanderin' round the woods with that loudass rifle…"

I roll my eyes. "I've shot a bow before. Hell, I'm from Tennessee."

He smirks. "Well, can ya _aim?"_

I put one hand on my hip. "Would I even be coming out here with you if I couldn't?" I imitate his voice. "If ya can't shoot no damn gun, why ya carry one?" rolling my eyes, I snort at his expression.

Daryl spits on the nearest tree. "You best not make me regret takin' ya."

"One might think you were worried about me going crazy again." I raise my eyebrows and step around a large stump, my boots sinking in the soft moss. "That why you want to keep an eye on me?"

"Might just be the fact that you're a crazy bitch who doesn't know where her head is." He shrugs. "Or, might be that ya actually ain't a bad partner."

Surprised, I hop up on a large log and hop down. There is a large crackling noise under my boots.

"Dammit, woman! Ya tryin' ta scare away every animal in the forest! Jesus!"

"Sorry." I mumble, swinging my new crossbow. I've shot normal bows before, but haven't had much experience with crossbows. I was never the bow type of person, but Daryl's right, I can't prance around the woods shooting my rifle. I gotta admit, I do miss it though. The weight of it between my shoulder blades was almost comforting, the security of a routine, along with my old tweed hat. I wonder if it's still in the smokehouse, or if Devil retrieved it from whatever rotty yanked it off my head.

"Damn… if ya don't be quiet, we'll be eating dirt tonight."

I laugh quietly into my sleeve. "You sound just like my old friend Emily."

He snorts. "Oh, please."

"Really… you would like her."

"I don't do women."

I raise my eyebrows. "Why am I out here with you then?"

He shrugs. "You aren't exactly Little Bo Peep. Ya can shoot, and I trust ya to have my back. Ain't no woman, but ya make for a good hunter."

I wonder if Daryl's hitting on me, but it can't be. It's just too farfetched. "I guess you did first think I was a dude when you first saw me."

He smirks slightly, and we're silent for most of the time. A few hours pass, and we shoot a few stray smaller animals. My compound bow makes for a good aim, and Pepe's son was right about the whole suspension thing. It's easy for me to pull back with one hand, and the arrows shoot without a kick. The sight is pretty swell too, and I know I'll get good use. It feels strange hunting with a bow, though. I'm not really used to the feel of such a naked weapon, but Daryl must be, because he hunts with familiarity with his crossbow. Figures, I've seen him carry the thing around since we met. Makes for an asset too, since noise attracts the walkers. These things make little to no noise when you hunt. By five, I've shot two squirrels, and a couple birds.

"So… you and Carol?" I try again.

He snorts and his arrow flies through the air, skewering a squirrel to the tree is was climbing on. He pulls the lodged arrow out of the tree and yanks it out of the small, limp body. "I thought the whole "not talking" thing was goin' pretty good."

"I'm just saying…" I shrug, whipping one of my arrows against a tree to smack the dried blood off. "The way she looks at you."

"Hell, woman…" he grumbles under his breath. "Thought we were out here ta hunt, not talk 'bout or feelins."

"Alright, I can shut up." I hold one hand up in surrender then hold the other up after tucking the arrow back in the canvas quiver. "I'm just sayin'."

Daryl shrugs it off and continues stalking through the woods. I figure Daryl and I are at our bests together when we aren't talking. But he does remind me of Em… the way he talks, the way her walks, even the way he just looks. The sting in my chest comes again. Just lately, I just can't fathom the thought of Emily as a walker. What I would do to hug her once more. _Tough times don't last, honey,_ she'd say right now. _Tough people do._ I sigh and lean against a tree.

"Whatcha doin'? Ya thinkin' again…" Daryl says, scratching his head.

"Yeah, something you might not do much of." I raise my eyebrows and jump down by him again. "We should head back soon. I think we got enough."

He nods, though I know he's disappointed we lost the trail of a deer we were tracking earlier. It doesn't really matter, because we have a lot of squirrel and bird. We head back towards the estate, the woods becoming dim and hazy. "Hold on a second," Daryl says, pushing me back.

"What?"

"Somethin's been through here." he says, pushing me back of whatever "trail" his tracker eyes must see. He points in the fallen leaves and pine needles. "See that," I follow his finger, "Somethin's been through here, and recently. After we passed through, that's for sure."

"Deer?" I look up. I may be from Tennessee, but I have a hell of a time hunting. Daryl must have had years of experience tracking. I usually just shoot what I come across.

"Nah, deer crossed through over. See, there's other tracks over the doe." He points on the ground again, but I see nothing. With Daryl, I've just come to realize that saying that you get it and trusting him will get you through a whole lot without him getting him annoyed. I'm too much like him to get into an argument.

"Maybe something else's out here." I say, and he nods once.

"Come on, if we're gonna get back before dark…"

I follow Daryl back through the woods that I have no idea how he navigates through, and we come into a clearing that I finally recognize.

_Smeeck. Squelch, smack._

The walker leans over the neck of the doe, steam coming off of the torn-open flesh. The insides are red and pink, spilling out over onto the leaves and tufts of brown grass, and the rotten hair of the female rotty is in tangled, stringy tufts. I raise my crossbow, but Daryl has already raised his.

"Son of a bitch." Daryl says under his breath. The rot-head turns around, even uglier with her face showing. Her features have sunken in so much, she is scarily ugly, like a nightmare. She kneels in the grass, her mangy dress stretched over her knees as she straggles the deer, digging into the dermis. She growls low, coming from deep in the back of her throat, and the meat in her mouth flops out as she eyes more desirable supper. "I got it." Daryl calls, and the arrow pierces the walker straight in the eye. She goes down and flops over the still steaming deer carcass.

"Here's our deer." I say, nudging the doe's nose with the toe of my boot.

"Bitch got to it 'fore us." He stamps on the ground with his foot and places his boot on the head of the walker, pulling the arrow out and wiping it on the thigh of his pants. "Damn it!" he kicks the dead walker again, her face sliding on the ground.

"Well kickin' it ain't gonna get much accomplished!" Surprising. There's my backwater accent again. It mostly comes out when I cry, or when I'm angry. Usually the latter. Daryl sulks for a while before he throws his hand up over his shoulder, blowing off steam before he decides to be rational again. I just step back and wait for him to stop getting angry.

"We should drag it back," he grunts, slinging his crossbow over his shoulder by the strap. Mine doesn't have one, but it's small and doesn't weigh a lot, so I don't mind carrying it and all. "Burn it, tell Pepe. He probably ain't gon be too happy this bitch roamin' round his property." He grinds his teeth and bobs his head, sticking out his lower jaw. "Wonder if she's got groupies."

"I don't wanna stick around and find out." I shrug, the strung up squirrels swinging at my waist. "But you're right, we should drag 'er back."

He spits and paces over to me. "Ya'll take an arm, I'll take th'other."

Every time I touch a rotty I feel like I should be wearing rubber gloves or something. Growing up in Tennessee, especially where I come from, you learn that if it doesn't bite you, it's fine to touch. Well, these things do bite. Even when they've been shot, I'm still uncomfortable around them. Still swinging my new bow in my right hand, I make a face and lean down, picking up the limp arm of what once might have been a beautiful girl. Now it's eyes are sunken in and sallow, coated in a thick cover of white film and yellow grime. Her arms are particularly gray, with black splatters going up her arms like she just started decomposing from the fingertips up. Under her nails is skin and whatever else she might have grabbed in this half-way zombie life, and her hair is in a tangled, crispy rat's nest that probably could be yanked right off.

"Damn," Daryl says, putting his back into pulling the most of her weight as he waits for me to catch up. Her bones crack and squelch under her skin, and her joints ripple under her rotted skin. Looks like she died in some sort of garden dress, like the kind with flowers and bright colors on it. As I drag her by the arm, her body bumps over the twigs and her dress snags onto a few other woodsy objects. I hear the soiled fabric start to tear, and the dress rips down the side.

"Shit," I mutter under my breath and rip the rest of what is snagged on a gnarled old tree limb that lays on the ground, its final tomb. Daryl spits again, showing his disgust at the hallow, gross skin that has rotted under the dress of the girl. I don't really like looking at their faces much, who does? They're always sunken in and disgusting, in various stages of falling apart and all that. But the actual body is the nasty part. You don't really wanna run into one with its shirt entirely ripped off and shit, because their chests are all sunken in and their skin is decapitated and rotting far worse than any other part of their body.

"Let's just get it back so we can burn it, Jesus." Daryl mutters under his breath like he always does.

"What the hell is this?" asks Glenn, who is lugging a small cart of baskets full of oranges and plums. He drops the handle and it falls to the ground, splattering in a small puddle form the night before.

"The hell it look like? Damn, you Asians get dummer and dummer." Daryl lets his crossbow slide off his shoulder and fall to the ground as he simultaneously lets go of the she-walker's arm, letting it flop onto the gravel path that leads to the house. "Imma go get Pepe so he can see this shit for himself."

"Well, what the hell happened?" Glenn calls, but Daryl doesn't look back one time, angrily stomping towards the house with an angry gimp in his step. I shrug to Glenn, the squirrels still strung up on my hip. The birds are safer in my bag, but the squirrel sash makes for a great rural fashion statement.

"We were hunting out in the woods… trackin' a deer, and we lost it. This bitch was chewing on out next meal." I shrug, kicking her rotten shoulder with the toe of my boot. Glenn stares at the rotty then looks back up at me.

"This was on the property?"

"Why would we go off the property? Of course it was. Plenty of game right here within these gates, and we stayed pretty close to the house," I pick up the end of the string that the squirrels are strung on and shake it. "Not even two miles out into the woods. So, not too far."

He eyes the dead walker on the ground and rubs the back of his neck, taking off his cap to do it. "Pepe said the land was secure."

"I thought so…we've been here a while, and I've never seen a walker on the property." Doesn't seem like a nice time to mention that I have, just not a "wild" one, really. Not a roaming one. The crook of my arm starts to tingle where Devil took my blood and will be taking more, and I self-consciously cover the spot up with my ruddy palm as if Glenn could be able to see it.

"Fences, barricades, wires…" Glenn lists off, his eyes slanted even more in thought. "Pepe's got all that, how'd one get in?"

"Good question." I say sarcastically, and he rolls his eyes. We haven't ever really talked much. I don't know a lot about the guy. Just that he's with Maggie, and has been with the group for a while. At least longer than I have. Come to think about it, I don't really know any of the others that well, not as well as I knew Beth. Beth and I spent a lotta time in that backseat. Her favorite color was blue. She had a boyfriend named Jimmy that died the very day I showed up. She liked cars, and no one really knew that about her. She loved her sister. Sometimes she didn't even think Maggie knew how much she adored her.

"Did it give you any problems?" Glenn shifts his weight from the left side to the right side as he paces around the thing. The cart of fruit still sits a few feet away. "I mean, it didn't come at you, did it?"

"No… it was eating our deer, like I said. It didn't have time, 'fore Daryl shot it." I shrug, laying my crossbow on the ground and the canvas sheath of arrows.

"You're good with a bow too?" Glenn asks, surprised.

"Nah… Daryl got most of these." I lay the string of tree rodents beside my bag and arrows. I'm about to speak again when I see a few people coming from the house. As they get closer, I see one of them is Pepe and his wife, another Daryl, and Olive, Camel, Rick, Tidan, and T-Dog. Daryl kind of jostle-runs, still in that angry gait. Geez, Daryl… sometimes I just don't know about him.

"See, I told ya!' Daryl says, kicking the walker body again. It rattles slightly, still face first on the ground. Her arms are still out in front of her, the way Daryl and I dragged her. "Shot it clear out there!" he points to the general vicinity of the woods.

"Where?" Pepe asks, stroking his mustache worriedly.

"Out there, near the east side of the forest. Makin' a buffet outa the deer we been trackin'." Daryl says, his accent coming on thicker when he's angry. "Donno how it got in, but I was walkin' a ways yesterday on the property. Ain't seen no holes in ya fence. Ya got it built up pretty damn high. That means she was pro'bly here 'fore you secured the property."

"No, it can't have been. This place was secure." Pepe's wife, Rosia interjects, wrapping her arm up around her husband's. "_Espero _was sealed up tight as _una caja de seguridad." _I really don't understand Spanish, but I know enough that the last word means something like "safe". Somewhat along those lines.

"Well, then she must have wandered in from a break in the fence or something because this place is secure 24/7." Olive chimes in her slightly soprano voice. She looks at me for a moment, then her green eyes dart away quickly as she smooths her hands over her wide hips, seemingly wrapping in on herself. "Last time we found a carrier, we had watches at every corner of the property at night. That hasn't been since I was here and they wandered in here and a few followed." She puts her hand over the side of her face and brushes her yellow hair away from her face.

"I didn't think this would happen again… _maldito." _ Pepe mutters, and Rosia rubs his arm gently, the crow's feet around her eyes loosening as their son scuffles the toe of his boot near the walker's sprawled body.

"I hatea burst ya bubble, Po-Bean, but ain't no walker gonna get in through those damn fences 'thout fryin' like an egg first. All that damn electricity ya waste on that fence, Christ… ya could light up th' whole city again with that much power." Daryl paces, getting agitated once again. "Last I checked, ain't no walker civilians gettin' in."

"There's no use in being uncivil, Daryl." Rosia scolds in that tone she might use with a bad dog. She isn't all too fond of Mr. Dixon, if he even deserves that title. He's been walking their property, setting foot on every plot of land like he's trying to memorize where everything is or something. I'm surprised he hasn't trod up her flower beds yet.

"Yeah, you gotta start with a clean slate." T-Dog says coolly, shifting his weight from one side to the other. "You oughta be insane if you think this crank got in here through those fences."

I notice Camel sort of trying to shuffle away in that awkward way of his. He's got his beat-up baseball cap low over his eyes, and all I can see is that damn cigar smoke drifting up and out from his mouth. He shoves his hands in his pockets, trying to be subtle, but Daryl notices. Of course he does, he's Daryl.

"You," he mumbles, raising his chin at the landscaper. "Ya the one in charge a all the land and stuff?"

Everyone stares at him, and he mutters. "Yeah…"

"Ain't ya checkin' the fences like you're supposed to be!" Daryl sets off, throwing his arm over his shoulder like he does when he's angry. "You let a hole get in the fence on your watch or somethin'?"

Camel laughs, pushing his hat back out of his face. "Redneck, ya can throw out any accusations you want, but it ain't gonna say nothin'!" he thrusts his chest out and stalks closer to us.

"Camel…" Rosia warns again in that voice, but they aren't having it.

"It's your job to keep the land clear of those things, and last I checked, it wasn't crystal." Daryl mutters, the edges of his lips pulling down. "You're a pussy bastard if you wanna pawn this off on someone else."

"Screw you." The bigger of the two men mutters, a glinting glare in his crazy eyes. Something just is never right about the man. Creeping around, the way he mutters under his breath and has those two mutts.

"This isn't the way it works." I say with a gritted jaw, piping up. Everyone looks at me, and I look away, especially at Tidan's thoughtful gaze. I'd rather not think about him right now, I thought my mind was cleared from the hunt in the woods, but what happened yesterday is still in my head. "Pepe's in charge here, not either of you." I look at Daryl, who glares at me for butting in.

"Do you wanna live here with _that_ lying slack-worker?" Daryl says, pointing at the man. "We're living with a bunch of assholes!"

"You don't wanna live here? Fine!" Camel roars, swinging his fist around and knocking it into Daryl. "Don't let the fuckin' door hit ya on the way out!"

"This is my group, I won't let them live with _you_ as a landlord!" Daryl spits out the blood, letting it pour down his cheek in a saliva-like fashion. "DAMN IT, YOU POXY ASSHOLE!" he charges for him, knocking him right good, just in the teeth. He reels backwards but doesn't fall.

"That's just about enough!" Pepe yells as Daryl tries to go back for more. T-Dog grabs one of his arms and Rick the other. "This is my property, and I won't allow this kind of brawl on it! Contain your man, Rick!" he demands, and Rick grits his jaw.

"This has nothing to do with any of the rest of us," he says, scrunching his nose with the effort of calming Daryl. "Don't toss around options, here. We can either stay, or we can't." Rick growls. "But we've spilt blood, lost others to get here…"

"This is your home." Pepe says softly, grabbing onto Camel's large arm. "I won't deny that from you now. But I am done opening my home to people. This is what it leads to, and I won't have it. Contain your people, Rick."

"That asshole's a dirty, sleezy liar!" insists Daryl, still in his uncontrollable fit of rage. I've never seen the man so angry before, though I haven't really ever seen him mad before. "Ya wanna make accusations 'bout us, fine then! But ya own man's a'slackin, and someday the ol' devil's gon come get ya'll if ya wallow in 'im so long."

"Just – _shut. Up." _Glenn says, rolling his slightly slanted dark eyes that are like two beads of light that glint in the light.

"Said like a true genius." Says Olive under her breath, blowing up a piece of her hair with her breath.

"I'm sorry about Camel." Devil says as he flattens the tap on my arm, holding his thumb on the cotton ball that throbs underneath. I already feel woozy, and he's just taken two pints. "He and Daryl must clash because they're both alike…"

"Nah…" I breathe deeply, trying to find my head. I feel all la-la, like I could float right off. "Ain't too much like each other…"

"Thing is, I was out by the fence today, picking through the vegetation. Makes for great home remedies," he says while crossing to the restraint-bed where his next patient, Daisy is strapped. She lies still, as if in hopes that I might come talk to her or something, and that human bit in her eyes is a little too creepy, so I try not to look too much at her. It's hard to think of her as a little girl in that state, if she even is at all. But she's so – docile. Especially compared to the others, though they have come a long way. "And there's a huge ass hole in the fence. Mangled, not cut on purpose, but that's the kind of thing Camel should be taking care of, instead of smoking his crack pipe, literally. Maybe if he channeled his aggressive energy into doing his jobs." Devil wipes up and begins the process of transfusing my blood into Docile Daisy.

"I – I feel dizzy," I say, trying to stand and teetering, careening to the left into the wall where I hold myself unsteadily. Devil is almost immediately at my side with his hands hovering. "I can do it, I can do it." I insist, but I really can't. He's taken a lot out of me, and I feel drained. "I just want to go to bed, God…"

"You can't walk, you're going to fall and break your ankle, even if I help you." He says, looking around. I can read what he's thinking right on his face.

"Uh-uh. I ain't sleepin' in no walker-rehab." I groan through my teeth, shaking my head. "Carry me if it's the least you can do."

Devil actually chuckles as I hold out my arms. He scoops me up and my legs hang down over his right arm like limp rag doll legs, and I feel like I can barely hold up my own head. I'm like a giant newborn.

"Will she be okay – like that?" I ask quietly, rolling my slow eyes over to Daisy, who stares down at the large tube in her arm like it is the most interesting thing she's ever seen. Actually taking it in.

Devil nods. "She should be alright. I'll just carry you to your bed and walk back here to take care of her."

"Does it work – immediately?"

He clears his throat as he steps out into the cool, breezy yet crisp night air. I can sort of feel his minuscule gimp on his prosthetic foot. Strange I didn't notice it before he showed me. I guess he became accustomed to it, just like I became accustomed to the sound of my own voice, the feeling of no one at your back. "No… it gradually works. She'll sleep tonight."

"Sleep?"

"Yeah… the blood is like warm milk to them. Puts them right in their first slumber in a long time. Figures, their bodies need a lot of rest." He shrugs, and I feel his chest rise and fall as the grass brushes the toes of my mud caked boots. "When she wakes up tomorrow, she might remember things. I don't know, I can't see inside their heads. But Millie's made excellent progress. I think that one or two doses of the blood will counteract the drugs I've been giving them for the past few months. She'll eventually resurface as a human again. I think."

"But… their bodies."

"Are in bad shape, I'm aware." He sighs. "They'll need to be on some major drugs, pain relievers. Fed though a nasogastric tube. Yes, there will be a lot of recovery. I've been trying to keep them in pretty good condition… but rot happens over time, just like rust. Every metal eventually rusts, right?"

"Right." I nod, closing my eyes so I can try and stop feeling so tipsy. "My group…" I mumble.

"I know, Paige. I appreciate you keeping this on the low side." He says, and I feel like he's really being genuine. "I don't even tell everything to Alexa…"

He barely trails off when I speak again. "They sorta trust me, Devil." He is silent, just walking. My eyes are still closed, but I can feel the sway of his slightly uneven gait. "I can't go on like this, letting you take part of me, keeping it from Rick, Hershel, Glenn, Maggie… they'd – they'd like, shun me."

"I doubt that."

"Maybe not, but – I feel like they're so in the dark with this."

"I'll tell you this, Paige… I trust you. Not just because I take blood from you every day." His chest rumbles with a chuckle. "But because I just really – trust you. I have faith in you as a person. This is your group. Back in the army – let's just say I know what it's like to have a group you feel sired to. They're your group. Your friends, maybe even you feel like they're your family. You do what you need to do. I won't interfere. This isn't my call, but – be careful, alright?" he lays me down on a soft surface, and I realize that he's already carried me all the way to my bed. "Goodnight, mate."

"Night." I say, and I'm out.

I groan at the light shining into my room much too early in the morning. It feels like I just fell asleep two minutes ago, and now I'm being woke up. I feel so slow. My brain is full of fog, and my limbs feel like I'm one of the old stuffed animals with wood stuffed in the limbs. I squint my eyes closed again.

"Devil says he's ready." The soft voice comes, and I feel the edge of the bed sink slightly down as Olive sits at the side of my bed. "I brought you some juice. And a cookie."

I stare up at her heart-shaped face. Her hairline in the type where it isn't perfectly straight, but sort of round and uneven, and her yellowish hair looks like artificial curls. I can tell that she doesn't have makeup on, but she's pretty anyway. I wish I was that way, petty as it is. I try to sit up in bed, listening to my tendons creak and groan.

"Careful," she warns, putting her hand behind my back to help me up. Olive then hands me a ¾ full cup of freshly squeezed orange juice, maybe from the oranges Glenn dragged in yesterday, and lays a napkin concealing a sugar cookie on my lap. "Take things slow."

"Ah, my damn head." I press my palm to my forehead, feeling that my hair is a absolute mess. "The hell…"

Olive clears her throat and holds the orange juice out to me. I take it shakily and as her hand hovers close to the glass, I take a wobbly sip. It's citrusy and tangy, but has just enough sugar to make the aftertaste sweet. "Thanks," I mutter, staring into the cup. Now that I look at the woman, she does look like her sister. I imagine what Millie must have looked like before her body sat decomposing. She probably would have had the same high cheekbones and I know her hands are the same; soft and little. Olive is a pretty small person, maybe 'bout five feet three inches, but I wouldn't doubt she could do more pull-ups than me. Those arms are toned and just muscular enough to tell.

"It's the least I can do." She says softly, trying to avoid eye contact by pretending to have to brush her hair back. it is done in a braid in the back with pieces left out in the front, and the hair tie is right at her neck so her curls are like a ponytail at the end of the braid. "All that you've done… for her."

I look up and catch her eyes. They are the color of limp celery, with small gilded flecks. "Gotta give what ya got if it's all ya can give." Another Emily-ism. I pick up the sugar cookie and take a bite. "I hope you'll be with your sister again soon."

"Well, she's all I have…" she says softly. "I've just been praying she'll get through this. That they all will."

Praying. Another thing I don't really do. "Olive, I gotta get a shower, my hair's a beehive."

"Of course. I'll go and take care of these." She swipes the empty glass of orange juice and crumb-filled napkin. "In that condition, someone should at least stand outside the shower." She says awkwardly. "I could…"

"No, I'm sure I'll be fine, just find someone…" I mutter, climbing out of bed. As I swing my legs over, the floor feels like the sea, and I think for a moment that I've toppled over. I regain my balance with Olive's hand on my arm, and scuffle slowly and safely over to my drawers. I'm a wreck, and feel like shit, but if Devil wants me this early in the morning, so be it. I won't complain too much.

"Get your things around, and I'll send someone in." she promises, rubbing my back once and disappearing. I rifle in my drawers until I can find a pair of pants that aren't ripped too bad, and a cleanish tank top and shirt to throw over it.

"Wow, if I would have known you looked this good in the morning."

I reel around and feel my head throbbing with pain. My eyes sear white, but I can make out dumbass Tidan standing in the doorway. God, Olive! Tidan! _Really!?_ He just chuckles and watches me struggle.

"Stop being such an asshole and help me out, I can barely even see." I roll my blind eyes and feel him slip his arm into mine. He feels incredibly warm, so I kinda cuddle close to him. He feels so good, and smells of Big Red, just like I remember. "Mmm…"

"What?" he whispers.

"You're warm."

His body rumbles with chuckles. "I see how it is, kiss a guy, run off in the woods with another one."

"It isn't like that, dickweed." I try to push him, but his arm is around me too tight. "Daryl's – too Daryl for me. And you should know I don't… feel for him. I feel for another guy."

"Yeah, and who's that?"

"I don't know, I'll tell you when I find out."

He sighs. "I'll just stand outside the showers, kay?"

I step onto the cold tile of the locker room showers and let my clothes drop on the floor. "I want you oughta here while I get in, you hear?"

"Yeah, yeah, I hear." He says, turning in a half circle. I pull my clothes off, stumbling around and leaving a trail. "You in yet?"

I start the water and hold my freezing hand under it to feel the temperature. "Not yet, hold on." I step in, shivering at my cold skin under the warm water. "Okay, I'm in, Messenger Boy."

I can almost hear him smiling at I comb my fingers through my hair under the water. For a while, the only sound in here is the sound of water hitting the tile on the floor of the shower. I wonder if he's still there.

"Paige?"

"What…" I mutter, squirting a bit of conditioner in my hair.

"I think we should… talk. About… you know, our… the other day."

"So… what about it."

He is quiet for a long time again. "Do you really… feel…"

I laugh. "Of course I do."

I wonder if he does his own sort of touchdown dance, but I doubt it. He's not that kind of guy. "So…"

"Tidan… I like you. Okay? I don't know how, and who the hell paired us together, but… Tidan… I think there's a lot going on right now, and…" I let the water flow over my body, biting my lip.

"I get it."

"I know, you do. You get a lot of things. How does it feel to get to me like no one ever has before…"

"Feels good."

"Look… my feelings for you are – are… they just are. But right now… ain't the best time, let's put it that way."

"I told you, I get it." I can hear the sigh in his voice. "Whatever makes you happy."

"Thanks." I say softly. "I'm getting out, turn around, okay?"

"Yeah, got it." I step out of the shower and dry off, pulling my jeans on awkwardly on my wet legs. I work quickly in my ill state to get my clothes on, and finally succeed, combing through my hair. Tidan just watches. We don't talk again when Olive comes to retrieve me.

"Thanks, honey." She pats his arm and helps me outside. The sun is yet to rise entirely, but the light stings my eyes, causing them to throb painfully. I blink a million times in hope that it'll get better, but it doesn't. "Nice and easy." She says, helping me across the yard. The smokehouse looks ten miles from here.

"Your sister," I don't know if I'll regret bringing it up. "She looks like you."

Olive smiles, but sadly. "Mom always used to say we looked like twins. So did a lot of people. Of course, she doesn't have these," she motions to her large hips and tiny body and giggles softly. "She always called them my childbearing hips. Said whenever I walked into a room, guys were dying to have sex with me 'cause of them."

I snigger, but my head throbs. "I need a belt, my hips aren't doing their job. I've never been able to keep my pants up."

She smiles in the dim morning light. "She's always funny like that… making a joke out of everything. I lived in North Carolina with my boyfriend of five years… Millie came to live with us when she went to college. We didn't mind, we both loved her like hell. Then things started getting bad, and we knew we had to get out of the state, to look for somewhere safer. Lost Gavin, my boyfriend along the way. So, Millie's all I have, now. If I can even still have her."

"If this works, you will." I say.

"I pray that it works. Every day."

I stop walking. "What the hell is it with you people and prayin'? What makes you believe there's a God up there if he did _this_ to the world? He destroyed everything, and you people can still _pray_ to someone like that? What makes you think he'll even answer if he didn't answer the others. He doesn't care about it."

Olive smooths her hands down her middle. "Well… that's a good question. I've always had religion. Always went to church, and read the Bible when it seemed appropriate. But I think it's 'cause He must've brought us here. Mill and I prayed we'd find somewhere safe, and we did. That's a reason to believe."

"He killed your sister, then. He put her in agony, then killed her."

"But I prayed again, and you arrived." She speaks softly, putting her hand on my shoulder. "Honey, you might not always feel Him, and you might not always be happy with him, but all prayers are eventually answered. God brought you to us."

"But he killed Beth…" I mutter.

"He has a plan for us all. That was what her blueprint had, so it had to happen. Even if you don't believe in Him, then you know that it had to be, right?" she rubs my shoulder. "Come on, let's get you in to Devil."

She leads me to the smokehouse, a long walk, while I think. I don't think everyone has a plan. Everyone has a cruel death, and I don't even know if they go anywhere. Some people seem to still believe in all that religion shit, but I have no clue…

"Well, here you are." Olive says, staring at the door.

"You're not going to come in?"

"No. I never do." She says, rubbing her arm at the slight chill in the air.

"Don't you want to… see your sister? Devil says she's doing better." I mumble, scuffing my toe on the ground.

"I – do… just… I'm deathly afraid of those… carriers. Those things."

"It's alright." I offer her my hand and open the door. "She isn't going to hurt you."

Olive hesitates, then takes my outstretched hand. She actually kind of has to help me walk, so I kind of show her which way to go to the back where Devil does his work, in the edition. When I "lead" her to the small hallway with the cells, she starts to careen back into me, but I shake my head at her. "They won't hurt you." I promise, and she gulps, taking a few meager steps. It's strange to say, but the walkers in the cells do look a little – lifelike. Like something has turned a switch in their brain, turned the light on, and breathed a little life into them. I stop at one of the cells, wrapping my hand around one bar staring in at an older lad I recognize from the few times I've given Devil blood. He slowly gets up and crosses to the bars where Olive and I stand. She backs away, frightened. I shake my head and let the man cross over. With a slight groan forming on his lips, he reaches out and touches his fingers to mine, wrapped around the bar to hold myself up. I smile at him. Olive continues to stare.

"Long time, no see." I whisper to the guy, who somewhat smiles. He tries to form a word on his lips.

"N-n-n-"

"Shh." I tell him, rubbing his bony, fragile, rotten fingers. "It's okay."

"N-n-n-ot-t-t t-t-oo l-o-o-ng." he gasps out, panting at the effort. I smile lightly.

"No, it's only been a few days."

He tries to smile again.

"D-did he just… talk?" Olive whispers in my ear.

"Something is clicking in their minds." I say, walking her down the hall again. My head pounds, and I feel like shit. "Something is making them – wake up."

"I – thought for sure they… died, when they changed."

"I thought so too." I say, pushing open the door to the addition, where Devil does his work. He turns around, blocking the soft chair that I usually sit in when we get the deed done.

"Olive," he smiles broadly. "I'm glad you're here." he turns to me. "Paige… I have something to show you."

He moves out of the way of the chair, and there sits incredibly fragile Millie. Her hair falls over her face messily, and her hands look like an old woman's, shriveled, with chunks missing, rotted. She smiles painfully, her still heart-shaped lips pulling back. "Sis?" she says in barely above a whisper. Olive stares at her for a while, then kneels on the ground.

"Baby, baby, it's okay. I'm here now… I'm here, Olive's here." she takes her friable hand and tucks it between both of hers, choking on her sobs. "I'm here now, baby… I'm here."

"It's okay." Whispers Millie as I stare. "It's okay, Ollie."

"I'm so so sorry. I didn't come to – I didn't know, I – I… oh, God," she sobs into the rotten hand. "Oh, God, forgive me… I am sorry. Forgive me."

Millie places her hand on her sister's cheek. "Chin up, Ol. I'm here, now."

I look up at Devil, who stares down at me. "You – you did it. You woke her up." I whisper.

"Amazing." He whispers back and emaciated Millie talks to her sister for the first time in months. I close my eyes and sway back and forth, feeling like I could just pass out like this, right here. Devil takes my arm. "Are you alright?"

_"Don't be afraid," whispers Petey as he leans in. His face is shadowed by darkness, the velvety skin clothed in the cloak of night. I blink as his eyelashes brush against my forehead. _

_ "Petey…" I whisper, my head falling softly as a feather on the back seat of the car. "I don't know…"_

_ "Shh," says the man, tucking my bottom lip between both of his and softly kissing. I am still for a moment as he kisses my bottom lip, my top lip, under my nose, and my chin. I wrap my arm around his neck and let the tears fall slowly and freely over my cheeks. "Gonna be okay, Paige."_

_ "I know it is." I kiss the side of his nose, and then pull him into me. We kiss with our lips locked tightly together, because we are all each other have to fight for. When we separate, our foreheads touch together, and his breath comes out two mixed streams of air on my face. _

_ "I love you, little girl." He says, his warm breath tickling my ear like a dandelion. _

_ "I love you." I whisper, the words foreign on my lips. I don't know if I've ever said them before. I don't know if I've ever really felt any love for anyone before. _

"I think I'm going to be." I say softly, opening my eyes again. "I'm going to be just fine now."

_**Well? I know, not the best, but it is kind of a set-up thing, ya know? Like I said, I PROMISE you that the next couple chapters will be MUCH better if you thought this one was bad. I would love to have some comments on how I could improve, what you would like to see happen and such, so thank you to ya'll! **_

_**~Lizzy**_


	10. Ten: Keep on Truckin'

**Hello, all! I would just like to say, sorry for the long wait, if ya'll are still out there, hehe… these links I apologize for such a long wait, and I hope you enjoy this chapter… the next couple will most definitely be longer and more eventful! Cross my heart!**

Ten: Keep on Truckin'

They are everywhere. All around me, closing in. I've never seen so many of them before in my life, so many sunken in faces, so many black and rotten hands reaching for me, me alone. I cock my gun and shoot the one that seems closest to me and it goes down at my feet, splattering blood all over my shirt. But it doesn't even make a dent. There are too many, and I fumble to lock and reload as another grabs for me. Corpse hands, then don't know what they do. They just see meat, that is what I am to them. Adrenaline courses through my body like an electron chain, fueling my fire, but my energy drops exponentially. This is the end. This is the end of my life, and there is nothing I can do about it. Nothing I can do to say goodbye, leave something behind to show that I was _here. _That even in the most minute of ways, Paige Swift _mattered. _I let them overtake me.

I thought the dreams had gone away after I found Rick and his group. I haven't had another once since the night I came across them in Georgia. I can't help but say I think the others have kind of been a blanket over the nightmarish circumstances of my dreams that play over and over. They started the second I was alone, and ended the second that I wasn't. I remember the first night I didn't have a nightmare. I was tied to a tire with my hands behind my back, and it was quite possibly the most uncomfortable sleep of my life. But no dream. Huh.

Sorta used the others as a cushion. I didn't really know what I was hoping for, what I wanted. Maybe I didn't want to find others. Possibly, it's just that I'm so hardened. But I doubt I would have made it here without them. But the dreams come again. More than once a night. Every time I close my eyes, they are all I see. I scream, I kick, I howl and whine into my pillow. Soon, there are soft hands on me, comforting me.

"Paige," Lori says, pulling the metal chain on the industrial, nothing-special lamp on the metal filing cabinet-looking bedside table. The chain swings against the stand, making a clinking noise that is so irritating that it hurts my sensitive ears. "Paige, honey…"

I sob into her shoulder, which smells like the soap that is in all the bathrooms, the marble kind that reminds me of starch. She is wearing a tank top and a pair of baby pink boxer shorts, and her bare shoulder is warm against my wet cheeks. Her nails coolly rub my back as I gasp for air, trying to take deep breaths. "They got me, they got me… they got me again, Lori, they did… and there was nothing I could do this time, they – they, they got me." I nervously push my hair up with my palms, all of my antsy ticks showing through. I stammer and get the jitters, my hands shaking like my elbows are vibrating.

"Shh," Lori says. "Eyes closed for a second… alright?"

I do as she says, because right now she reminds me of my mom. Mom always used to take care of me… even when I was older, before I stopped visiting her, she would tuck me in and sit with me for a while. That was before I lived with Dad and went sour. Lori is a bony person. Not like a skeleton, but she has a lot of sharp angles. I guess she's kind of like me in that aspect. We both could use a few pounds to make us softer, but that doesn't say anything about the inside. Lori is still not my favorite person, and I don't think she is anyone's. Who would side with her if she's having a baby in the middle of the apocalypse? I remember Rick yelling it at me the day we argued. It seemed to cause him a lot of stress.

I sniff and wipe my nose with the back of my hand. "Did I wake anyone up 'sides you…" I say hoarsely, wiping my nose again.

"Only Rick, but Carl sleeps like a rock these days…" she says, helping me sit up. I cross my legs and sit cross-legged in bed while she brings her knees up to her chest. "Don't worry about it."

"Thanks for wakin' me." I say even quieter. "I don't know if I coulda taken another second…"

She reaches out and touches my arm, but I pull away. I really hate people to touch me when I'm like this. Maybe because I went through it alone for so long. I learned to cope, I'll do it again and again if I have to. She doesn't seem hurt, though. Just goes back to wrapping her arms around her knees. She sits there for a long while, it seems.

"You know…" she says finally. "We all have those dreams. It's hard to forget what it's like out there."

"Yeah." Is my reply as I look into my lap, playing with my fingers so I don't look so small. "It's been a while."

"We're human… we're all vulnerable." She promises, though my vulnerable moments are the ones that don't define me. They're the ones that eat me up inside. "I'm vulnerable… you're vulnerable… Rick is – vulnerable." She sighs, pushing her fingers up through her hair.

"But he leads us alright." I say, staring at the lamp's bulb until my eyes hurt.

"He tries…" she says, and I notice her fingers curl up. "Before you came… things were… let's just say they were different. We lost people. We made – mistakes. Stupid mistakes."

"I made plenty."

"There's always that nagging in the back of your head, isn't there? What can I do to fix it? What _could_ I have done…" she runs her hands up and down her bare legs, trying to settle the goose flesh that has risen on her olive skin. I know how disconnected her and Rick are, almost like how I was disconnected from humanity for the longest time. Something happened that will never be the same with them, if they were ever different at all. Something about Carl tells me that things were better.

"You can never look back, just go forward…" I say, my voice still hoarse from sleep. "Nowhere else to go… this place is safe." I think she knows what I mean, at least by the way it comes out. "We're happier here, and Pepe's given us a home…"

I shift and bend my elbow slightly. The strap of my nightgown that Olive gave me when I got here falls over my shoulder and I slide my hand over the crook of my elbow, where the cotton ball is still taped to my skin. I forgot to take it off when I went to bed, and I didn't exactly think I'd be having visitors at three. Lori's eyes, unfortunately, fall straight over my hand that's attempting to cover up what she's probably already seen.

I stare at her and let my palm slip from the piece of cotton on my arm. I let Lori see it. I let her stare. "Have you had… blood taken?"

I look down at my arm and then back up at her. "Lori, remember when Devil took your blood to see if you were compatible with Beth's blood type?"

"Of course."

I rub the crease of my arm where it hurts. "Well…"

"Paige…" she says, question in her tone. I spill it out to her, because it seems like there is no choice. Hesitantly at first, but then I speed up and tell her openly. There is no point in making up some bullshit story, because I am fucking tired of lying through my teeth. I need to tell someone, and I need to tell _everyone._ If they are ever going to trust me like they trust the others, I need to tell all now. And I trust Lori. I have a feeling that Lori is taking in every word thoughtfully, because she nods her head occasionally, even putting her hand over her heart once when I tell her of Olive, Daisy, the other people kept in the smokehouse. She doesn't interrupt once, and gives me respect, which I appreciate.

"I've been going out there almost every day now…" I say quieter, bringing my knees to my chest and wrapping my elbows around them so they are pressed into each side of my ribcage.

"How much blood," she swallows rather awkwardly. "does he take?"

"A pint, sometimes more if they need more. Enough to make me dizzy…" I rub my head self-consciously and push my messed up hair back.

Lori clears her throat. "But there is no – cure for them, they… die, and then they're gone. They're just walking bodies. There's just no way – it isn't humanly possible."

"It is…" I say, my voice rising half an octave. "I've seen it happen. They aren't dead when they turn, they're just in this – different state, I guess, from what's been explained to me."

"Then – it's your blood?" she questions, pushing her dark hair out of her face.

"Yeah, well not the only thing. It completes it. Whatever else he's put together, I got this rare blood. It's the only one compatible." Her dark eyes flit down to my arm again, then back up to my eyes. She leans forward and places her palm on my forehead.

"Honey, you're shaking." She says softly, and I pull away from her. She grits her jaw. "Why have you kept this from us?"

"Don't get short…" I narrow my eyes and pull away from her. "Don't you think you all would claim I was crazy if I walked around telling you I was curing walkers?" The look on her face tells me that she already does. "Oh, shit, Lori, I'm not crazy. I'm really not, this isn't crazy, I'm sane, Devil's sane, we're _both_ sane. Everyone in _Espero_ knows eventually. The crosses out on the property, those are all his _failures._ He's been trying to make this cure for so long now, Lori, you gotta believe me. Olive's sister's out there, and she's – getting better. She's close to human again, really, I _saw_ her yesterday."

"Paige, honey… I believe you." She grips my arm. "I believe you."

I look up at her with my two watery eyes, a tear running down the side of my nose. I wipe it with the back of my wrist and sniff. "I'm not crazy."

"I know…" she says, helping me lie back down on my back. I curl into a ball and let her tuck me back in. It makes me miss my mom a little even though she stopped giving a shit about me much before the apocalypse happened. I shiver in my ball, and she doesn't leave. "Tell me how it works…"

I sniff even harder. "He transfuses my blood with the walker. It puts them into a sleep. When they wake up, their brains start to function again. That's how it works…"

"You don't want to ruin this, do you…" she says, gently stroking over my hair. I'd normally hate this, but it feels kind of good to have someone on my side now. Someone who knows my secret.

"No…"

"You've got a lot on your shoulders… how about you lift that up…" she says, patting the side of my head because she can't get the front since I'm turned on my side. So many things are going through my head right now. The rotties in my dream, seemingly so real. They were going to grab me and drag me down, bite my ankles then rip into the soft flesh of my stomach. Pull out my organs like spaghetti. Eat off my face and tear off my hair like paper Mache. That dishearteningly reeks of déjà vu, and it scares the shit out of me because of it. I don't want to relive the past, so I keep that filed deep away in the bowels of my mind. My screaming, for a second thought. I hate the sound of my own scream. And it feels so comforting for someone other than Pepe and the others to know about this.

"You mean, tell…" I whisper. "I've been trying – I don't know if I can… how could I…"

"I don't really know what to say to you know, so I'll tell you what my grandpa once told me… in times of universal deceit, telling the truth becomes a revolutionary act. Telling the truth can set you free." She says while standing up, brushing herself off. She paces to the other side of the room. "I'm in deep, you're in deep… we can't drag the others down with us, so you just have to keep on trucking, Paige…"

"I went through a lot out there on my own…" I suddenly blurt out, but something tells me she thinks it's okay. There's shit I'd rather not talk about, but I think in a sense she's the same way.

Lori presses her knuckles to her chin as she speaks again. "We've all been put through the wringer. This place is the – perfect opportunity to start over. We lost people out there, we weren't always so broken. These times we need to band together, but what we've really been doing is pulling apart. I've been a heedless woman, and it's time I own up to it… I thought that Hershel's farm was the perfect place to settle, but see where that lead us…"

"Carl told me. About what happened there."

She looks up. "Carl's changed since then. He's grown up pretty quickly… my boy is growing up in this world, and no one's set a great example for him to follow."

"Start now." I say quietly. "I don't know what to do…"

"The worst thing you could do was keep secrets. If this "cure" really does work… people are bound to find out eventually. And wouldn't you rather it be before you're blamed for keeping secrets for too long?"

"I figured I'd just… I don't know."

She tucks me in again and draws the covers up to my chin. "Sleep on it. I'll be in the other room if you need me again, alright?"

I nod once and let my eyes droop closed.

This place is like a meadow. I suddenly just appear there and look around. The sun on my face is warm, but not bothersome, and when I look down I am dressed in a long dress. I usually don't wear dresses; all my life I've wandered around the woods in ripped, faded jeans and t shirts. Never much cared for vanity. But the dress I am wearing looks like white taffeta, but is soft and silky. Enclosed inside the white material is a flowery pattern that looks faded, and synched around my middle is a light golden belt, which matches the straps that fit to my shoulders like they were molded for them perfectly. I am barefoot, but the grass if soft without any rough terrain. I take a few steps, the grass feeling like cotton, or stuffing under my feet. A slight wind tossles my blonde hair that is for some reason curled slightly at my collarbone.

The perfectly green grass is around me like a sea of rocking waves, and they are soft on my bare legs. I take a few steps and stare up at the blue sky in the distance. There is not a cloud sullying the cerulean beauty as I stare into the vast space. Fingertips brushing the tips of the tall meadow's grass, I take a few steps while still looking upward. When my eyes waver back down to my own eye level, there is a girl standing there. I try to speak but can't find the sound of my own voice.

She's small, with angled elbows and knees, but her face is quite pretty none-the-less. She smiles, her lips turning up at the edges. They are the color seashells at the beach, or the color of the inside of a really good plum. I look down at her outstretched hand and study the long, manicured nails. Looking up at her face again, she is no longer smiling, but waiting with her large-set brown eyes. Waiting for me to take her hand. Slowly, I reach forward and let her grasp envelope mine. It is oh so warm. I haven't felt anything this comfortably warm in my entire life. I feel like as long as my hand is in hers, I can feel happiness, if only for a moment. I forget about everything else for a second.

She smiles again at my disbelief at the warmness of her thin fingers. Her button nose is covered in light freckles, and her glossy brownish-blonde hair is combed perfectly and reaches her chin. It has a slight wave to it, and bobs when she moves. Those covetable lips smile at me again, and I smile back with one side of my mouth. Her hand tugs on mine and I let her lead me through the obstructionless ground of the meadow. Soft turf squishes under my toes as we walk through the small lea, our hands intertwined in the convivial knot. I can feel the tissues of my heart pulsing with sincerity. She too is wearing a dress, but it is a soft creamy navy color on the see-through sleeves, and the farther down it goes, the more dense the flowery design gets. I am so busy studying her beautiful dress that I don't notice that lupines are appearing around us as we walk, and the sun is warming my face even more.

Again, I try to speak, but can't find my voice. Nothing comes out, and I want to speak to her so bad, but I can't. I let her lead me to a small coverlet of trees that guards us from the sun, and she looks up at me.

_What? _I feel like asking, and she smiles again, her lips pulling up at the corners. She shows me her perfectly white teeth this time as she beams, swinging out hands just slightly. I blink once and she is a few feet away, holding her hands together in the front. _How did you get over there?_ She just smiles and lets the breeze pass right through her, like she is an apparition. My brows furrow as her brown eyes widen and her skin seems to glow in these shadows. I turn to see what she is looking so contently at behind me, and another beautiful figure is behind me.

_Emily? _My face lights up and I rush forward to embrace her. It's been so long since I've seen her! Oh, Em! I've missed you! I've missed you, you have no idea how long I've been wondering where you were! Emily!

She smiles and pinches my cheek gently, and I feel the same warmness when she touches me as the young girl. I find it strange that she is still dressed in her usual clothing; just a pair of jeans with a rip in one leg, and her studded belt looped so tight on her waist. Her cotton shirt is rolled up to her elbows, and her curly hair falls over both her shoulders. When I let go of her, she holds me at arm's length away and smiles brightly, that same old smile I remember. How could I have forgotten such a face?

_Where'd the little girl go? _I wonder, and look around. Emily shakes her head, her curls bobbing slightly as she does so, and takes my hand. Her boots are covered in mud, I see when I look down at them, but the grass is perfectly green and blemishless. I feel her tug on my hand and she leads me down a slight incline onto a creekbed. The water bubbles and the girl is beside me, staring at the small creek. I blink once, and suddenly she is on the other side, smiling and waiting. Emily pulls me into the water, but is flows around me, like I don't even touch it. It goes through me, as it does Emily, and when we reach the other side, there is not one drop of water on me.

_Where are you taking me?_

Little girl nods once and takes my other hand, my other being in Emily's. They lead me for what seems like forever, though I don't mind. It is unbelievably comfortable here. The ground doesn't hurt my feet. The sun isn't too hot, or too bright. My clothes fit me perfectly, and the two hands radiate a feeling that everything is going to be alright, sometime. I look to Emily, who only chucks her chin down so it is resting on her collarbone and I feel her fingers slip from mine at the same time the girl's do. I look at both of them, and they seem to be waiting, watching for something. I look around, but there is nothing. After what seems like hours of standing here, the girl tugs on my hand and Emily spins me gently around to see the figure of a man approaching.

_Petey?_ Oh God, Petey! I thought I would never see you again! Petey! Petey! I leap for him, and he closes me into his chest. He is the warmest one of all, I swear. He is like eating a toasted marshmallow, but like the marshmallow is eating _me._ I bury my face in his broad chest and feel myself crying, but no tears come out. I touch my face, and it's dry.

I still fail to find my voice as Petey takes my hand and leads me through the lupines, brushing against my hips as we wade through the meadow again. Emily and Girl choose to follow, trailing behind us by a few feet, occasionally stopping to admire the flowers.

_Beth?_ I stop at the top of the hill, looking over the slow slope that juts down. Beth smiles, just as the others did, and takes my hand. Petey doesn't let go of my other one as she hugs me loosely, being gentle. She is just as warm as the others, if not warmer. The dress she wears is a soft orange color with lace overlay, and her hair is pinned in the back, which is strange because, hey how did we get in this meadow?

I turn to try and talk to Petey, but he's gone again. I lift my hand and paw the air, but he is gone, totally materialized. I turn to Emily, but she is gone as well. Beth is no longer in front of me. Disappeared. The only one remaining is Girl, who offers me her hand again. I start to panic, where did Em and Petey go! How could they just disappear?! I have to find them again!

She notices my agitation and approaches suddenly, taking my hand and patting it. The warmth radiates again, and I let her lead me to a large weeping willow tree. I don't know what to do, so I sink down on the trunk so my bottom rests on my thighs. Girl looks down at me.

_Aren't you going to sit too?_ She just stands, her small bare feet resting on the sodden ground, the sun casting a bright beam from her left side. She looks so darling; I could just hold her here. I wonder who she is… I yawn. I feel kind of tired, and maybe that's what she's waiting for me to do; go to sleep. _Is that what you want?_ She blinks, her long lashes brushing her cheeks. I close my eyes.

The paper that has been placed leaning against the metal lamp. Girl from last night stares back at me with those same penetrating eyes that watched me as I fell asleep, the same soft lips. I roll onto my side far enough to stretch out my arm, and snatch the picture gently. There are many eraser marks, and smudges, but still, I would recognize her anywhere. I flip it over onto the back, but there is nothing but a small portion writing that is blotted from the lead. **Carl Grimes, to Paige**. I hold it up to the light to see it better. That's her, alright. I comb my fingers through my hair and walk out into the hallway, looking for Carl. He is in the opposite hallway, and he must have just gotten a shower because the only thing he wears is a pair of jeans, and his hair that is getting shaggy is dripping onto his bare shoulders. When he sees me he looks a little embarrassed, but tries to play it cool.

"Carl," I say, and he bites his lip, casting his eyes downward.

"Sorry for going into your room, but you were asleep, and I finished it…" he says sheepishly, his teeth together firmly while he talks. "I wanted you to have it…"

I look down on him and his eyes eventually find their way back to mine. My eyebrows furrow slightly and I place my hand on his wet head. "I think it's great, Carl."

"I thought it was okay…" he grumbles under his breath and puts his hand on top of mine while I ruffle the wet stringy locks.

"Carl?" I say, and he looks up again. "Who is this?"

"It's Sophia…" he says softly, biting the inside of his cheek. "You know, the girl I told you about…"

"Yeah, I remember." I hold the portrait out in front of me to get a better look. It's hard to believe it's actually her, _Sophia._ That's your name, Little Girl… Carl's friend… I remember he told me about their days on Hershel's farm, how Sophia had gone missing, and the walkers the Greenes kept in the barn. In some scheme of things, the barn was opened, all the walkers inside slaughtered, among them Hershel's wife and son. Sophia was one of them. "This is a really good picture…"

He looks up. It's a little strange to see him without his usual sheriff's hat, or hat hair. "I couldn't get it right. It's hard to remember exactly what she looked like without a picture or anything…"

"I think she looks great. She's beautiful." She is… no wonder she insisted on looming over me in the meadow. She was there all along.

"I always thought so." He says quietly, and I observe the slightly dented scar on the right side of his stomach. If I don't know a shotgun wound when I've seen one, I'm daft. Makes me wonder what went on before all of this; the scar is fresh, so this probably hasn't happened less than half a year ago. Probably less.

"So, I can keep this?" I ask, holding up the picture again.

"Yeah, it's for you… you're the one who told me to draw people." I kneel down beside him, hugging my arms around his legs. We're both a little bit surprised with it, but he hugs me back, his getting-stronger hands shaking. "Maybe I'll draw Beth next…"

"Keep her fresh in your mind." I say faintly. "That way it'll be easier."

He smiles as I stand up again. A sad, older than he is smile, the smile of a tired father, but a smile anyway. "I'm gonna go help Vicki make breakfast. I said I would after I got a shower."

"Carl? Thank you."

He nods once and pulls his favorite shirt on over his now-dry skin; a paw circled by atomic bands. I head back to my room and open up my near-empty drawers. The top one has nothing but about five pairs of clear underwear, and I place them all on top of the bureau, laying the straightened paper in the bottom of the drawer where it'll be safe. Good and safe. Seems kind of uncourteous to cover Sophia up with underwear, but she'll be safe. After I ensure the portrait is in a harmless spot, I take a shower and dress in a pair of ripped, worn jeans and a plain t shirt. I can't help but think of the dress I wore in my extremely vivid dream. It was beautiful, and the more I think about it, the more I can picture it.

"Will you cut these?" Olive asks as I make my way into the kitchen, pushing a washed colander of strawberries toward me. I take the knife she hands me and start slicing the leafy bit off the top and then again cutting them in half. I toss the new halves in the bowl of already-cut fruit she slides toward me.

"How's Mill –" I suddenly blurt out, then cover my mouth at the look she gives me. Carl is making toast over the stove on a heated old-fashioned toaster, the kind you have to turn on the stovetop, and Vicki is making eggs. I'm silent for a while, just choppin' these damn berries. We eat breakfast in silence, and a few others trickle in. Lori gives me a look at the table, a sympathetic look as if she is waiting for me to bring it up. I cover up my arm self-consciously. I ripped the tape and cotton ball and threw it somewhere before getting in the shower.

"We have to take care of that body." Pepe says, taking a sip of his black coffee. He uses his napkin to wipe the droplets of the hot drink off of his mustache, and Rosia clears his plate for him. He turns to his son, who is washing the dishes. _"Pepito_, will you take Carl out with you to get some firewood?" he eyes Carl and his son.

"Yup. Come on, man." His son says, playfully knocking Carl's hat on the head.

"Rico, be careful." His mother, Rosia grabs his arm and pats her own cheek do he'll kiss her. He rolls his dark eyes and pecks her on the cheek before leaving, the screen door slamming shut behind Carl and him.

"I'm gonna go get a little gas." Tidan clears his throat, sliding his chair back to the table. I'm surprised they let the corpse marinate out in the sun, but maybe the dryer it is, the better it will burn. I don't know, I've never burned them.

Eventually, after a few cups of black coffee that does not go down well, I make my way outside to where the others are now, mostly. They are all gathered outside, around the now-burning pile of wood and the body me and Daryl dragged in. I can see why they covered it in a few logs now; the smell would be horrible if it wasn't covered by something to catch the rancid smoke. I stand sort of disconnected from the group for a while and watch Devil walk in from the field, from the direction of the smokehouse. Olive stands beside me.

"He's been out there for the majority of last night." She says in her pixie-like voice, pulling her hair over one shoulder. "I wonder if everything's alright."

"Have you been going to see Millie?" I ask out of the corner of my mouth, pretending to stretch my arm behind my head.

"As much as possible. She's weak, and needs to get her strength up, but she's doing better."

"No shit." I smirk and eye the man, who is trudging with his arms hanging at his sides. Devil looks like a wreck, I have to admit. His hair is slicked back and sweat is on his brow, a small droplet dripping down from his temple at the hot sun. He hasn't shaved in a while, and his growing scruff is thick, brown and gray. His shirt is also damp with sweat. He looks like he's been put through a meat grinder, and he walks straight past us. Alexa reaches for him, but he brushes straight past, leaving her dissatisfied. I grind my teeth and stalk away from Olive, leaving her body swaying as I push past.

"We need to talk." I say, slightly running to keep up with him. He continues stalking at the unaverage pace. I grab his arm, my nails digging into his skin. He barely flinches, his bicep flexing and the veins showing.

"Jesus, woman!' he mutters in his irritated voice.

"You needa stop with this bullshit." I growl, my accent coming out like it does when I'm about to yell when I'm not getting to people like I wanna. ""Ya look me in the eyes and let me talk."

He refuses to look at me, scowling at the ground, so I dig my nails father in until he looks up. "What? God damn!" he gabbles.

"I need to tell them."

"Excuse me?" he narrows his eyes, his tone uneven and full of fatigue. I really don't have time for his bullshit, and I ain't gonna waste time twinkin' around and waiting for him to answer to me.

"I gotta tell them. They're too in the dark. They're my people. They need to know."

He pulls me aside harshly by the arm until we are behind the house. "You can't."

"Oh, just watch me."

"_You can't." _he interjects again, a certain craziness in his eyes that I can't really detect. His left eyelid twitches over his eye as he grabs me again, arm quivering.

"I can do what I want." I push his arm away, ready to yell for someone if he tries anyone. "I can't keep on keepin' on like this if I'm going to keep secrets from them. I can't stand it anymore."

He paces, running his shaking fingers backwards through his unwashed hair, stuttering. "I – I – I need more time, can I at least have another day? A few more hours?"

"It's too late…" I whisper, already backing away a couple feet. He seems a little too dangerous and unpredictable for my liking now, and if I've learned anything in the past, it's back away slowly but surely. "Lori already knows."

"_What."_ He says between clenched teeth. "You told her?!"

"You said to do whatever I felt was right!" I holler, making myself loud and clear just in case this turns ugly real fast. "It was right to tell her!"

"What, so you go around now telling whatever bitch of a housewife _my_ information?! _My_ information, Paige! It isn't like it's your secrecy to give away!"

"Last I checked, it was." I flash him a tease of my arm, the hole he's been poking the needle in every time to extract my blood, his precious little liquid from the holy grail, me. "You need my blood for this, and I'm not going to help you anymore if you don't make it clear to _my_ people."

"This is all I've worked for in this rotten _hell_ of a place, and you'd take that away from me? From _all_ of us! What about Olive! What about me! I swear, God woman!"

"You can threaten all you want, but I'm still your link to humanity. I can stop giving you blood just as easily as I can give it to you. You can't tie me down and force me. My people don't deserve to live under a shade!" I cry, tossing my hair back behind my shoulder. "Now, whether you wanna cooperate with me right now or not is up to you!"

Devil makes a discouraged, expressionate noise as he half whams his head forcibly into the side of the house. "What can I give you to make you change your path of thinking?"

"You can't replace my group's trust with material things or whatever else you were thinking of. Hershel needs to know that his _daughter_ didn't go down in vain. That you were gonna help her. Maggie too. And they all need to see what we've accomplished. What _you_ have accomplished, and wouldn't have been able to accomplish without me. Ya hear me out? No more of this craziness, Devil. More complex things go on 'round here 'sides you curing walkers in the smokehouse, alright?"

He looks up, epiphany written all over his face, though with that still present hint of insane. Probably from breathing those fumes, talking to half dead people all day, staring at a vile for hours upon hours. "Devil, they need to trust me. They need to trust us."

He grabs my shoulders again. _"Please, _Paige. I'm begging, don't ruin this."

"It's either they know, or you can cut me out of your plans."

He nods once and we advance back to the others.

The funk of rotting flesh is in the air now that the wood is turning to ash, crumbling around the corpse and wafting her dead scent up into the air. Glenn stands beside Maggie, who watches the body burn with disgust, and he looks up at me when I slowly scuffle to a stop at the edge of the fire pit, getting a bit of soot on the toe of my boot. Hershel is a safe distance away from the burning pile, with Carol who is petting one of Camel's dogs that is surprisingly not as hostile as I first believed when it tracked me down in the orchard. It's the shaggy black one, Bobby Jo I think, and Jaws it rolling around in the grass a few feet away. Lori stares at me for a brief second, and Devil paces back and forth, occasionally looking up to me. I take a deep breath.

"Guys? I needa talk to all of you…"

"You didn't tell us?" Carol interjects, her face stricken with disbelief. Bobby whines and pushes up on her hand again, but she doesn't notice.

"I – I was planning to. I didn't know if it would work, and it _does." _I add before anyone can even take a breath to say otherwise. "Devil's been working on it since the apocalypse broke out."

Maggie and Hershel's faces are the worst. They know their sister and daughter is gone, but there was that one chance. I hate myself that I am the one who ruined it.

"How long have you kept this from us?" asks T-Dog, and Rick just scoffs and stares at me in disbelief and disappointment.

"Since last night. I spilled to Lori." All eyes fall on her, and she looks away. "And don't blame this on her, she's the one that convinced me to tell ya'll. You can either take it or leave it, but I'm not pissing my pants for you people anymore. This is the truth, and I can't hide it any longer."

"But you still lied…" Glenn says, licking his lips.

"It was for the good of – everyone, okay? Hear me out on this, and I'm telling you now! Now that you all won't be disappointed!" I raise my voice and I notice Camel lurking near the back. He whistles softly to one of his dogs, who retreats loyally to his side and licks its dark lips. "Well, Devil, say something! Say something, all of you! This ain't just me, and ya'll know it!" I put my hands on my hips, accent shining through even more than ever now. Carl stares at me from behind his father, trying to look tough, pushing his hat back off of his forehead and chucking his chin up to look bigger. I know he trusts me.

"I – I think we should trust her." He says quietly, and then steps out from behind his parents. "She was trying to protect us."

"Carl," Rick says shortly, pulling him back and leaning down, speaking through clenched teeth at his height. I hear Carl's voice hiss out.

"What're you _doing_ Dad? This is _Paige._ She's one of us." I see him blush behind his freckles and look back at me quickly to see if I can hear.

"My – my sister." Olive finally speaks up, not so shy now that the spotlight is on her. Lori puts her hand on Carl's shoulder and Rick straightens out. Daryl stops sulking and Camel even stops to listen. Not often that Olive talks out like this, she's actually kind of outspoken. "My sister, I thought she'd died here. This was it, I was alone in this. That changed yesterday when she spoke to me."

"Impossible." Murmurs Hershel. "Paige… those things die, and then they become monsters. Nothing else happens, no matter what ya do to 'em."

"Really, it's all in the medication." Alexa interjects, her auburn hair bobbing. "It's quite simple. The drug is given through a saline IV drip. It stimulates brain activity, even after death. This creates a sort of – safety barrier that will allow Paige's blood type to enter the vein and pump the heart. It works. I've seen it happen." She says matter-of-factly.

I reach out my hand towards Rick. "Please, you gotta believe me. This was for your best… for Carl, and you Maggie, Beth… I didn't want to get you mixed up in my own shit." Rick takes a look at my outstretched hand. "I trusted you…"

He takes it and shakes firmly. "We need to work – this – out. Whatever it is." He mutters under his breath. Something just isn't really right about him these days; I have a feeling it's something that happened before I was with them. It's no matter. He won't fall apart, at least not yet. I can trust Rick. He's tested me before, and that little fight we had, it was all for good reason. I sigh and stare at all of them, the members of my group, and the others of _Espero. _It's going to take me a while to sig my way out of this mess and sift through the damage I may have done while I was just trying to help. I nod once at the awkwardness and start to head back towards the bunkers where I can shamefully crawl under the covers and die. I really hate the feeling of deceiving people. The guilt creeps up on me, and right now, I really just need to be alone. I crawl into my bed and bury my face in the pillow, biting my lip so I don't cry.

After a while the door creaks open, and I look up halfway from the pillow, my lashes still across my cheek. "What do you want?"

The bed creaks, and Tidan weights the side of the bed slightly down as I turn back away towards the wall. "Go away, I don't want to see anyone right now."

"Don't… shhh." He whispers, gently running his palm down my shoulder, to my back. "They don't hate you, they trust you…"

"No they don't, and they have every right not to. All I could do was wiggle in here and die, so leave me be to."

As I sit up, his lips meet mine, hot and wet and tasting of maple syrup. Not that shit you used to get from the grocery store, but that kind that is actually real and melts in your mouth. I immediately kiss him back, wrapping my arm desperately around his neck and pulling myself as close as possible, almost so my lips are in his mouth. He pulls me against the wall and I start to undo the buttons of his shirt as he kisses my neck like my skin smells like the best thing in the world. Tears stream down my face as I weave myself into his body, his hands frenziedly roaming over my shoulders like he can only hold me now and only now.

**I'm dreadfully sorry, my lovelies! I know, that might have been boring and short… I apologize… it is setup for the next chapter, I PROMISE that things are going to go somewhere in this next chapter… I swear of Daryl Dixon, and ya can't break that, ya'll! Please let me know what you thought! You are all wonderful! ~Liz!**

**By the way, if you were wondering what I was envisioning in Paige's dream sequence regarding clothing, here ya go, ya'll! Labeled and everything for ya!**

**Paige's Dress: **

** url?sa=i&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&frm=1&source=images&cd=&cad=rja&docid=EWnZz6_l4AqGSM&tbnid=Ha4Pnum19WsP7M:&ved=0CAQQjB0&url=http%3A%2F% .com%2F2008%2F07%2F13%2Fdresses%2F&ei=vI0uUfipH8is2gXt0oGgBQ&psig=AFQjCNEPNzDn02A0heMq8piXQ-ceWzTbIA&ust=1362091823900645**

**Sophie's Dress: **

** url?sa=i&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&frm=1&source=images&cd=&cad=rja&docid=UPYqUoWAom1cSM&tbnid=JzKFB7jVrvO1EM:&ved=0CAQQjB0&url=http%3A%2F% .com%2Fshop%2Fdresses%2Ffielding-pretty-dress&ei=P40uUd2VFKPo2AW184CAAw&psig=AFQjCNFni2gc-cfSLq-TsZGMqQAWQ6z_qQ&ust=1362091558255576**

**Beth's Dress:**

** url?sa=i&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&frm=1&source=images&cd=&cad=rja&docid=kfqDZbszhkku5M&tbnid=hcIWUlkq1BIfqM:&ved=0CAQQjB0&url=http%3A%2F% %2Fpost%2FNh3gFNIdH1%2Flace-dress&ei=Ja0uUcD9DYz02wXUooGoCg&bvm=bv.42965579,d.b2I&psig=AFQjCNEjwFGYtt0SZr8RbZ5hKKmo 5CMGmQ&ust=1362099827352932**


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